Strings Attached
by BeshterAngelus
Summary: Pete Tyler thought he was agreeing to making his entire life better. Sometimes gifts come with strings attached. When his entire life is turned upside down, fate gives him a second chance at pulling it together.
1. Chapter 1

AN: Pete has always fascinated me as a character, perhaps because I too am a Daddy's girl, and have always empathized with this storyline. It should be pretty obvious from the start that the Pete we are talking about is the one from Pete's world, but in case that isn't clear, might as well throw it out there. This is all a "what if", how do we get that Pete and who is he? I'm having fun playing with it. Enjoy! BA

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It wasn't the first fight they had like this. Hell, it wasn't even the second or third, Pete Tyler assumed it was somewhere in the hundreds, but he had lost count somewhere after the first week they'd been together. It was so predictable now it followed a script almost, a familiar pattern that he could recognize nearly before the angry words came spilling out of his mouth. Like an oncoming storm he watched it, helpless to stop it, as first Jackie screamed, and then he screamed, and she threw something at him. And as usual their shouting had earned thumping on the walls of their flat and curious looks out of neighbors windows as Pete grabbed his trainers and stormed out, taking only his jacket and cigs into the drizzle of late-evening, June rain. He could hear Jackie's shrieks from above him as he stalked across Powell Estates, the sound ringing off broken concrete to echo hollow in his ears.

_Fucking, stupid cu…._

He stopped his thoughts before he went that far. Jackie was many things, but even he had a limit in his mental cursing of her. Why in the hell had she started in on him this time? The muddy shoes in the doorway? The smell of perfume on the collar? The dirty dishes left since breakfast on the coffee table? Hell, he couldn't remember, and honestly he didn't care. Bad enough he had spent the entire day at Rog's, up to his eyeballs in notes and prototypes, trying to figure out marketing strategies and gimmicks on a dime, all to sell a crappy, health drink. Vitex was what the guy making it called it. Scam was what Jackie called it, and Pete hated to admit he was inclined to agree with her. But still, he'd agreed to sell it, and like bloody hell he was going to back out on it. It wasn't a bad product. And he had ideas for it, ideas to make it a better product, if he could get enough sales, get enough money together to buy the guy out. All he needed was time, time when he wasn't having to appease the hoyden he was married to.

Appeasing Jackie Prentiss...well Tyler now. Pete wasn't even sure that was possible. Her raging accusations still rang through his ears, even blocks away now, cutting and harsh. It had been that way a lot lately, so much so that he had forgotten what it was like when he and Jackie had gotten along. They had been happy once, back in the day, before they had married. Back when he'd been in the band, and he had met her at a party, and she had fluttered her overdone, blue eyes at him under her fringe of poofed up, peroxide blonde hair. That hadn't been what had turned him on to her, though, cause there were loads of women in London who did that to him. What had happened later, in the parking lot, when Jackie had thrown herself at some drunken arse who had wanted to pick a fight. No more than eight stones, if that, she had thrown herself on top of a man twice her size, all nails and heels, taking him down neatly as he lay groaning and sobbing on the pavement. She had turned, smiling up at him and asked him for drinks. Pete was still not sure whether he agreed out of admiration or terror, but he had said yes.

Drinks of course turned into more serious things, and one day Pete had found himself using his meager savings to purchase a chip of diamond on a silver band, and presenting it to her in front of her crying mother and taciturn father. Neither of them believed that Pete Tyler could care properly for their Jackie, and didn't mind saying so in loud voices behind closed doors. But they willingly ponied up for a nice wedding, because her mother refuses to have her only daughter married off in some office. Still, even their money couldn't extend to a fancy church service with a cotton-candy confection of a dress, but Jackie pretended she didn't care. She borrowed her suit off a girlfriend, her father used connections to get a nice reception room for the service, they paid for a lunch for everyone. Of course, there had been muttering. Pete had heard it, and remembered, even if Jackie had lifted her chin and said her wedding was perfect for the two of them.

Those had been the good times.

They had spent the first months living in her parent's place, making love frantically in those moments when her father had the telly on so loud the neighbors could hear it. He looked for work without success. Times were hard, no jobs to be found for a guy who's only experience was in playing in a band. But Pete Tyler knew how to hustle and he could make a sales pitch like nobody could. So he took the odd sales job here and there, all for crap really. But he learned. He was always doing that, learning, gathering up big ideas and changing them. Even when he was a kid he could do that, improve on inventions, come up with new ones, he had a knack for it. He was always telling Jackie about how he could make things better, whatever new gadget he was being asked to sell. She'd smile at him, and nod, and tell him to take the garbage out.

Pointed looks had turned to muttered suggestions over the dinner table, as silent conversations ran between Jackie and her parents. Even Pete got the message finally and knew his in-laws welcome had run out. He had a mate who lived in Powell Estates, not exactly ideal, but okay for the two of them, just starting out. Jackie had balked initially, fearful of the graffiti and grime, but had acquiesced when he assured her it was only temporary. The next big job he got, the next big idea he sold, they would be out of there, living the sort of life her parents wanted for her.

All he needed was the next big thing.

Oh he had ideas, plenty of them, and he was always trying to spin them out. Schematics filled notebooks on the coffee table, and the closet was stuffed with the odds and ends of tests and trials. Jackie had put up with it at first, proudly showing off his drawings to their friends as if they were his collection of bowling trophies earned on their nights out. But soon her eyes began to roll like theirs when he would hold up the sheets of ruled paper sketched in his quick, neat hand. And then she would ask how much this idea would cost them, and had he made his commission on his last sale yet because rent was due and their cupboard was bare. Hurt, he shot back something smart, and she would grow angry, and that was when the yelling began.

The good times went away soon after that.

Now, the fighting seemed to be the only communication that they had. Even their trips out bowling had turned into pissing contests between them, with Jackie's stage whisper hissing through space about Pete not living up to his potential. He pretended to hear nothing, just cooly rolled the ball down the varnished wood, the rumble of its passing briefly covering up the hums of agreement from her pack of girlfriends. His mates, the husbands and boyfriends of many of them, would nod at him in sympathy, all of them having gone through the gauntlet of personal failings themselves that evening. Pete would say nothing, merely swoop in to plant a kiss on Jackie's heavily made-up cheek and brag about his nearly perfect score.

And so it went, night after night, Jackie whinging about bills and late payment notices, and Pete assuring her that just around the corner was the next big thing. He knew she believed he was never going to make it. And frankly, he was starting to believe it himself. This Vitex gig was supposed to be the thing that finally broke them out of the cycle. With all the health-craze going on in this world, who couldn't be talked into a vitamin drink? Except it tasted like horse piss and smelled even worse, for all that it was supposed to make you healthier. He knew how to fix it, of course, had told the owner so, and he had lazily replied that if Pete could buy him out of his investment in it, he could do whatever the hell he wanted with it. And so Pete had agreed, in principle. Jackie, however, had thought he was mad. Now months on, he had a living room filled with Vitex, a wife so disappointed she couldn't bother being civil, and a mountain in debt that looked as if he would never climb it.

This was not the life that Pete Tyler had signed up for.

When he was a child he had told anyone who would listen he'd be a great inventor and make millions. They had humored him then. Now as an adult they simply thought him barmy and irresponsible. And he couldn't say that they were wrong, least of all Jackie. Jackie, the one person he was trying so hard to earn these millions for...the one person, if he admitted it to himself, whose opinion mattered the most to him.

He stopped, turning to stare back down the street, to the distant block of lights that was his home. There Jackie waited, likely crying as she called her cousin, or maybe watching telly cursing his name. God, he loved her, despite it all, despite the anger and abuse. He wanted to do this for her, to prove to her that she wasn't wrong in marrying him. And if he were half-a-man, he'd go back this second, beg forgiveness from his wife, promise to lay off the dreams for a while and get a real job, and then shag her all night till they couldn't walk. He would go home and settle down, finally, no matter if he hated it, get a job working in a factory or a shop, come home to telly and chips of a night, and go out for bowling. He'd lay off the dreams and focus on what mattered the most to him, when he admitted it, Jackie. All he had to do was turn right back around and walk down the street and ask for forgiveness.

Every cell in his body ached to do it. Suddenly, he wanted Jackie in his arms, her lips against his, pressing her body into the creaking springs of their worn-out mattress. He wanted to beg her forgiveness and promise to make everything right. His feet lifted, moved, his body and thoughts returning to the scene where just an hour before he had been screaming at her.

"Peter Tyler?"

He paused, turning in the drizzle, squinting into the darkness to find the voice. It wasn't that unusual in the council estates for someone to call out his name, he was well known enough, but no one called him Peter, not since his mother died. No one was about this time of night, save a single woman, standing beside a red sedan, an umbrella over her golden head.

"Can I help you?" He could be polite at least. She didn't seem to be trouble, at least not what accounted for trouble in these parts. She was too...nice for that. Not tall, very young, looked to be no more than a uni kid, with hair so flat Jackie would itch to reach for her curlers. It was pulled back in a sensible bun. She didn't look the sort who would normally hang around the estates. And she wasn't someone who should know his name.

The girl smiled at his question, shaking her head. "No, you can't. Help me, that is. But that's not why I'm here."

He stared at her across the pavement. "Who are you?"

"My name is Yvonne."

Nothing about that rang a bell. "Look, Yvonne, I don't know what you are up to, but it's late, and my wife is waiting, and I'm not interested in anything you're selling, so maybe we should just go our separate ways…"

"I'm not selling anything, Mr. Tyler," she replied coolly, all the while making Pete cringe at the "mister" title. "And it is late. Your wife is waiting, but I know that since you two argued, she's not expecting you back anytime soon. So take a few minutes and chat with me."

"About?"

She lifted her shoulders in her long, brown trench coat. She reminded him, absurdly, of one of those black and white movies with Humphrey Bogart, or a spy movie with people meeting in dark alleys. Her enigmatic smile stayed still, however, and he swore lightly, glancing to the lights of the Powell Estates in the distance. Curiosity always got him in trouble, he couldn't help it, and it wasn't everyday he was propositioned by a woman on the street, no matter what Jackie said.

"All right," he muttered, tossing his cigarette butt in the gutter and crossing the street. The girl opened the passenger's side door for him, indicating he should get in. He went, glad for a moment to get out of the dreary drizzle as she rounded the car and got in at the driver's side.

Later, hours later, he stepped out of the non-descript sedan, into the lightening sky and misty rain, lighting another cigarette with shaky hands. He pulled on it, hard, his pale skin gray in the pre-dawn light. Beside him, Yvonne rounded the car, her umbrella over her head, her enigmatic smile firmly in place.

"Do we have an agreement, Mr. Tyler?"

He turned red-rimmed eyes to glance at her for long, silent moments, smoke curling out of his nostrils. Finally he nodded, a jerky shake of his head. She seemed pleased.

"Good. Representatives from Torchwood will reach out to you shortly." She reached into one of her pockets, pulling out a business card. Torchwood Institute was emblazoned on it in neat, block letters, like a university. There was a seal on it. His thumb grazed the upraised, embossed writing. Her name was printed clearly on the bottom. Yvonne Hartman, Associate Director of Public Relations.

"Public relations?" He laughed at that, a bitter sound in the cool, morning air. "Is that what you call it?"

"I don't think intelligence and corporate espionage plays well when one is supposed to be a research institute," she replied dryly. "Per our agreement, Torchwood will take the necessary steps on your behalf."

An image he remembered from some movie long ago, about a devil and someone selling their soul, leapt to mind. "I get to do what I want? It's still my thing, right?"

"Everything will be as we agreed," she assured him smoothly, her eyes flickering to the gray block of Powell Estates emerging out of the darkness in the distance. "Things will change for you, Peter Tyler, for you and your wife. Do you think you can handle it?"

Pete looked at the card, rubbed his thumb over it once more, then placed it into his front, breast pocket, beside his cigs. "Yeah."

"Then we will be in touch." The woman nodded politely, her smile widening brightly. "I think you and I will get along famously Peter."

The look she gave him as she walked away spoke to a hope that they would. Pete gulped at that, moving away from the car as the girl got in and drove away. Had it only been seven hours since he got into that car with this woman and had everything changed? It had been as simple as a car ride, out of the dingy grime of the area he lived, to the tall office building on Canary Wharf, where an offer was made that he couldn't refuse. An offer that would change everything.

His heart thumped painfully in his chest as he considered the night and then his steps were rushing, running, racing over the slick pavement, towards the estates, across the scummy bricks and up the stairway that smelled like vomit and piss. He was back through the door, lungs heaving, skin sticky with rain and sweat as he tossed himself first towards his empty, darkened bedroom, then towards the sitting area, where sure enough, Jackie lay curled on the sofa, asleep in a ball, as the silent television glowed in the corner.

He smiled softly, reaching a hand to stroke his wife's platinum hair, tumbled amongst pillows. She didn't stir, but snored slightly as he chuckled, squatting down beside the couch, studying her make-up smeared face, slack in slumber.

"It's going to be all right, Jacks...finally." He murmured, eyes filling inexplicably with tears. "For the first time, it's all going to be all right, I'll show you."

He wished he could wake her. He wished he could tell her. But he couldn't, he knew that. Torchwood told him that. But he knew, he believed them, that it was all going to be better soon. And he would be able, for the first time ever, to prove himself to his wife.

Everything was going to be perfect.


	2. Chapter 2

_Twenty years later..._

The shrieking bounced off the walls. High-pitched and squalling, it permeated through Pete Tyler's eardrums, sending chemical impulses to his dreaming brain that initiated panic and alarm in him, even before he was cognizant. Without warning, he threw back covers and sheets, feet hitting the floor as he sat, blinking at a rather ugly picture of what he supposed some artist thought a traditional, British village looked like.

The shrieking didn't stop.

Bleary turned towards the earbuds on the nightstand. The obnoxious noise ended, but it's aftermath still reverberated through the still air and through his skull, earning a sleepy grunt as he contemplated why he shouldn't throw the blasted piece of plastic against the wall again? Because, he realized with grudging admission, he would just have to buy a new ones. And in an age when everyone on the planet had ear pods that streamed information at them twenty-four, seven, he shouldn't be without. With a reluctant sigh he barked the name of Miles Connor.

"The master has awakened, has he?" Miles dry, nasal drawl sounded at the other end, bemused and unrepentant. Not for the first time Pete wondered why he put up with it, and remembered that Miles was one of the best PA's he'd had ever...not to mention he knew six ways to kill a human.

"It's too early in the morning for your lip, Miles, and you are too far away to kill." Not that he could manage that feat. Pete knew that despite the slick, neatly gelled blonde hair and the trim, ultra-hipster black-framed glasses was a man who had spent years in special operations for the Republic of Great Britain and had worked on missions that even Pete couldn't know about. Besides, he was a whiz at handling his schedule, could type 90 words a minute, and made an amazing cup of coffee, so he was useful to keep around.

"Promises, promises, are you up yet?"

Pete lied. "I'm moving to the kitchen right now." He flopped back on the pillows.

"Since I hear no coffee maker going, I will assume you are still in bed." Miles sardony even sounded like a smirk. Pete rolled his eyes. "It's currently six in the morning, you have a meeting at 8 with the Vitex board regarding latest earnings report, a ten o'clock interview with Sherry Wexler at the BBC…"

"Sherry? She the blonde or the brunette?" Pete scrubbed at his bristled face, already beginning to hate his day.

"She's gone ginger now, she's interviewing you for some piece on British titans of business."

He glanced at his rumpled and well-worn pajamas and snorted. "Some titan. Obviously haven't seen me without a shave."

"Let them keep their fantasy. It will break their heart to know you still have t-shirts from the 1970's," Miles assured him blandly. "Then at noon, you have Yvonne Hartman?"

Pete made a face and groaned.

"What does she want?"

"You, naked, on her Union Jack sheets, preferably with a bottle of fine French wine and a box of chocolates."

If Pete had been drinking anything he would have choked. Instead he spluttered at the imagery, cringing at the visuals. "Bloody hell, Miles, what did you have to go and do that for?"

"It's why they pay me so well, you know," he replied without a hint of regret. "You know she has wanted you for years, right?"

Twenty to be exact. And he knew, ever since that fateful night when everything changed.

"Right, I'll do it, get a report together for me so I can take something. Anything else?"

"The last matter of business, of course, is the matter of tonights event. Chicken or fish?"

Pete's stomach curdled at the thought of either.

"Do I have to?"

"It is your wife's birthday party, sir."

Jackie...his wife.

"I suppose we have to keep up appearances." The words tasted sour coming out of his mouth. "Pick whatever, I don't care, like as not won't be eating it anyway."

"She'll notice," Miles warned, his tone sing-song. There was no love lost there for Jackie.

"What else is new?" His rubbed his hands over his eyes, trying to ignore visions of Jackie screeching at him later for ruining her birthday. "Did you send the gift I asked you to get her?"

There was a long pause on the other end of the line.

"Miles…"

"Sir, are you sure pink bunny slippers are how you want to convey the fact that you are still in love with your estranged wife?"

"It was the first present I ever got her!" It had been a cheap pair from some dodgy market. They looked as if they would melt if they got too near an open heating source and most of the fur had come off in the first wash, but Jackie had kept them for years early on, sentimentally claiming that they were her warmest pair, even when clearly they weren't.

"Sir, that's cute and all, but don't you think diamonds or a new fur would be nicer?"

"Miles, you hate my wife," he growled into the phone. "What in the world do you care?"

"I don't. But I also hate that you are miserable without her."

The sigh that emanated from Pete told the whole, sad story. He stared at the bleak, gray light out of the window. "I am such a sodding prat, aren't I?"

"I'd call it something different, but to each their own," Miles muttered in that cool, smug way that seem to convey both his superiority and his indifference.

"Jackie has diamonds enough, Miles. And besides, the slippers have fur, mink or some other such rodent they've dyed that hideous color she likes so much."

"I guess it will be memorable."

"I hope." Pete finally managed to drag himself to the edge of the bed. His toes searched out his slippers, sliding into them. With effort, he rose, joints creaking in ways he didn't want to think about. "Anything else?"

"You finally out of bed?"

"Yes, you vile bastard, and I'm making my coffee. Have the driver be here for me at 7:30, right?"

"Your wish is my command, even if I think pink, mink-fur bunny slippers are ridiculous."

"Sod off," he snapped, clicking off his phone, even as he could hear his assistant's laughter on the other end. He stood by the bed, rubbing his face, contemplating whether to shower or get coffee. The need to wake up quickly screamed shower, and so he wandered into his small, cold en suite, flipping on the water, letting it warm as he stared at himself blearily in the mirror.

Jackie's birthday. She would be...thirty-nine now? Forty? Hell, he lost count, trying to think back to their wedding years before. She'd been eighteen? She had to be forty now, right? Not that she'd admit it. Jackie Tyler would rather cut the fat diamond off her finger than admit to her real age. Of course, considering the current state of their marriage, he was surprised she hadn't. Given how much she had whined till he had given it to her as a tenth anniversary present years ago, he doubted she'd ever let that go.

Forty years...God, that made him...he didn't want to think about it, knowing it was depressing. Over fifty, that much he'd admit to. And he looked every bit of it. His ginger hair had begun thinning ages ago, and he now simply kept it buzzed short, utilitarian and smart, thankfully with no gray yet. But what he lacked there, he made up for with the lines on a face that used to be always smiling, always happy, always making a joke or dreaming an idea. That had been years ago, though. The old Pete Tyler, the one who had spent his days beating the streets just to pick up a quid, and his evenings bowling with his mates, or playing in his band, or getting pissed on his own body weight's worth of beer. When was the last time he had done anything fun like that?

Back before Yvonne Hartman and Torchwood showed up in his life.

He still recalled that rainy night, thought about it often. He'd gotten in that car and been told that there were things in this world he couldn't imagine. Of how there were aliens and rifts, and technologies that would make even his wildest, most fanciful creations seem like children's toys. He had scoffed at the pale, slip of a girl, but she had shrugged and driven him to Canary Wharf. And what he saw there that night convinced him that not only was she right, but that the entire universe and how he understood it was completely wrong.

"That's why we need you, Peter," she had said, smilingly charmingly as he had tried to take it all in. They stood in a cold, sterile lab, somewhere in the bowels of the glass and metal building, staring at something that by all rights shouldn't exist. It wasn't big, only as tall as he was and barely as wide, but it was advanced, that much was for sure, far more so than anything Pete had ever seen. And Yvonne assured him, it was alien. "We need men like you, men who have vision and talent, to help us make sense of all this. And to help us protect our planet from itself."

"From itself?" Pete had blinked at her as if she were mad. "The technology here, the things that it could do…"

"Can change the world under the right circumstances, yes. But under the wrong ones, what could happen?" She blinked mildly at an alien spaceship, the sort you'd see in those bad movies as a kid in the cinema. "And of course, there's always the aliens themselves. They are around, mostly quiet, keep to themselves and their own business. But every so often...well, there are those who have ideas. We try to take care of it quietly, of course."

"What, like Men in Black?"

She'd laughed at that. "Peter, you're too cute. That old, wives tale, nothing like that. Torchwood was established by the family of our old, royals under a charter by the Queen. One of the last she signed before they permanently had to remove the royal family because of the raging Lycanthropy. Their hope was that through our work we could protect Great Britain from whatever outside threats may come. Say what you will against the old royals, they were patriots. And it's our job to make sure that work gets carried out."

Pete honestly didn't care one way or the other about the old royal family. But he did care about him and his life. "Is this stuff you want me doing dangerous?"

"For you? Probably not. We need you to be our eyes and ears."

"What, you mean like a spy? Like with a tux and martini while he's shooting up people?"

"This isn't one of those John Shackleton movies, with the super spy who gets all the women and all the gadgets." Yvonne glanced towards the spacecraft. "Well, at least some of the gadgets. The truth is, Peter, what we need is someone who isn't out to make a splash. We need someone who can fit in, someone who is friendly, gregarious, charming, but smart and cunning as well."

"And you want me to spy on what?"

"Torchwood is a research institute, Peter, we monitor the situations on Earth, we try to keep it safe as best we can, and we hope that nothing gets too out of control. We have had access to technology that has been able to change the world radically in the 140 years since our charter. But we aren't in the business of making money and profit. Sometimes, we partner with those who are interested in the technology. Other times, there are those who would want the technology and not bother asking. Still, there are those out there who stumble on something, some bit of alien refuse left behind, and not realizing what they have, begin messing about. We have to keep tabs on what's out there, who has what, and what it could be doing."

"Corporate espionage?" It finally made sense to him. He scrubbed at his face, the growth of whiskers rough against his palms. "You want someone on the inside keeping an eye on things for you?"

"Yes," she replied simply.

"Why me?" After all, in his battered jeans and worn out t-shirt, he hardly screamed corporate spy. He wasn't sure he'd even be picked up by a grungy, local band.

"We've been watching you for a while," she replied, smiling genuinely. It didn't stop Pete from becoming horrified at the very idea.

"Watching me? Why? What have I done?"

"It's not what you've done, it's what you could be. Don't think your work hasn't been noticed."

"Work?" He snorted, running nervous fingers through what was left of his ginger hair. "Clearly you ain't been watching too proper, work is something I don't have."

"I thought the plans you had for low-cost solar power were quite impressive."

"That, I was just borrowing bits and pieces off other people's work I saw in the engineering mags," he waved it off impatiently before stopping. Wide-eyed, he turned to her. "How did you know about that?"

"You turned it into one of those mags, remember? A contest for prize money?"

Pete felt his mouth go dry as he stared at the young woman, who only grinned glibly. "That was three years ago, and I didn't win anything."

"No, you didn't, we gave the prize to some nutter in Manchester who figured out how to have a self-flushing toilet, but that wasn't the point."

"You?"

Yvonne nodded airily. "Torchwood subsidizes most of those magazines you like, you know, a way for us to see what's out there, monitor what is ours, what isn't, and whether it's a threat or not. Control, limits, that's what this game is all about! And besides, it helps us find promising talent. And you, Peter, have promise."

"Yeah, so much you gave the prize to someone else."

"Well, we can't make it that obvious. Besides, we wanted to see what your story was." She wandered across the white tile to a computer monitor in the wall. Without even using a keyboard, she pressed the screen and text and images began flying across. "You were always gifted in math and science, did well in the subjects in school, even sat your A-levels. Could have done uni if you wanted. But you didn't. Why not?"

Was his life an open book to this strange woman and her weird machines? He glared at the offending screen first, then at her, feeling his pale cheeks burn slightly. "Couldn't afford it, right? Problem with that?"

"No," she replied without bothering to look at him. "I see here you've done the odd job, catch as catch can. Not exactly the sort I would think would settle down with a wife."

She finally glanced over her shoulder at him speculatively. "Though you are fit enough, I can see why the ladies like you."

"Alright, enough, you've had your fun and games, and leave Jackie out of this." This stranger had trodden on one of his sacred cows, and that was being good enough for his wife. "She's a good woman, deserves a lot better than me, that's for sure, and I don't care what that stupid machine there says, I never have cheated on her."

"I'm not one to judge." Yvonne's gaze swept him up and down for a long moment. Pete had a feeling that she rather wished he did step out on Jackie. "Besides, she will suit perfectly for what we want."

"Let's not bring Jackie into...whatever this...is." Pete waved his arms wildly around him. "I'm not even sure what this is. What is it you want me doing?"

"I told you, we want you to spy," Yvonne replied patiently.

"But how?"

"Simple," she turned back to the screen. "What's the one thing you want more than anything, Peter?"

His patience was wearing thin, but he humored the strange woman anyway. "To be able to do things right. To support my wife and show her I'm a real man who can take care of his family."

"Not really," Yvonne murmured, still reading whatever was in front of her. "Let's be honest with ourselves, Peter. You don't want to be a real man. You want to be a great man. A man who is taken seriously, not thought of as a gad about who can't grow up. You want to show people you know your product, you know your business, and you know how to make things people would like."

"Yeah," he shrugged, wondering why that was in any way particularly different from what he had told her. "I wouldn't mind, you know, having a business of my own, doing the type of things I'd want to do."

"Like Vitex?"

"Well, maybe, sure, why not? I mean, the stuff they got me selling tastes like horse piss, they could do so much better with it."

"It's not horse piss, no, but judging from the chemical make up, I'd not drink it myself." Yvonne made a face, turning away from her screen. "I'm fairly certain some of those added minerals are toxic in high enough doses."

"What? You have analyzed it?"

"Of course, and don't drink it, Peter, that stuff might kill you. You have ideas for it, right?"

Too gobsmacked by the idea they had actually analyzed the stuff, and half afraid to know what was in it, he nodded vaguely. "Yeah, I mean...I had ideas to make it taste better, get more flavors, maybe add things like electrolytes, like those sports drinks, or maybe mineral water."

"Sounds brilliant. So when would you like to start doing that?"

What was she going on about? "What you mean, start, I don't know, couple of years, when I make enough to buy the rights?"

Yvonne acted as if she hadn't heard him. "How about next week? I think our lawyers can finalize all of it by then, and well, then it's the investors, and more lawyers, that bit will get complicated, but I'm sure given two months, we could get the new and improved Pete Tyler Vitex into production. And of course, advertising...you'd be a great pitch man, you know."

She might as well have been speaking Greek for all the sense she was making. "Wait, hang on, what in the bloody hell are you talking about?"

"Vitex, Peter, I thought that much was clear. Your new company."

He stared at the woman, who looked barely out of uni, talking about spying and aliens and technology and making him the head of Vitex, and wondered vaguely if he wasn't mad. Maybe Jackie had clocked him in the head with her shoe as he stormed out, and this was all his dream as he lay sprawled on the floor. "I don't own Vitex."

"You will tomorrow." Yvonne uttered it as if it was as sure as the sun rising, and just as cheerfully. "Torchwood is interested in you, Peter. We want to make you our man on the inside as it were, our spy. The best way to do that is to make you one of the boys, one of the elite circle who run British industry. Get to know them, become their pal, make deals, get involved in their business. And let us know what you find out."

He really had to be dreaming this, or he had to be insane. "And it's that simple? Like...some fairy godmother? You and your Torchwood, you come in, you buy me a company, just like that?"

"Just like that," Yvonne replied. There was something of the predator in this woman in her no-fuss suit and her cool, pulled back hair. Nothing about Yvonne Hartman screamed attractive in the way he'd come to know it, no overdone hair and makeup, no cheap, tight clothes. But he supposed she was pretty enough. She was certainly into him, judging by the way her gazed flickered over him once more, as a slow smile spread across her face. He felt uncomfortably like a tiny mouse standing before a giant lioness, knowing that in about five seconds she would swallow him whole if he let her.

"And all I got to do is just...spy on these fat cats for you, that's it?"

"That's all you have to do."

She didn't look like the devil. Frankly, she looked like a girl who had just got done with school and was trying to seduce her old tutor. But something about this all rang far too good to be true. But he thought of Jackie back home in their hole of a flat, in the dingy estates, crying her eyes out and wanting something better for her life. And he wanted something better for her too. This could give them everything they wanted. He could have his dream, she could have a husband to be proud of and a life of ease. It could be everything they wanted.

"Yeah, alright." He said it so casually, perhaps cockily, earning a pleased grin from the woman in front of him. "We got a deal?"

"Of course." She held out her cool hand, shaking his own firmly. "I'm so pleased you could come on board, Peter."

That had been the start, of course. Not that overnight things changed for him and Jacks, no. In fact, she spent the better part of the next two weeks scoffing at him. He hadn't told her the Torchwood angle, of course, Jackie would never keep her mouth shut on that sort of thing. But he told her he'd had some investors interested in helping him buy Vitex, and she had laughed in his face and said she'd believe it when they had money in their account to pay rent. Another two months later, she wasn't laughing anymore. Vitex was off the ground, with Pete as the majority stockholder, and they were out of the Estate and into a posh place in the city. Vitex was taking the country by storm, and suddenly Pete's ugly mug was on billboards and buses, and every time he wandered into a pub to watch a match, someone would mention how he looked like the bloke selling the vitamin drink that they saw on someadvertl. Soon, the quiet life of Pete Tyler, with its bowling and beer, and occasionally a band, went the way of the public. He was suddenly the CEO of a company that had taken the soft drink world by storm, and now sold everything from vitamin waters to power bars, even sponsored sporting teams, and had a race car. The posh place in the city turned into an estate in the countryside. Now paparazzi followed them everywhere, interested in the minutest details of their life. And Jackie, for her part, revelled in the attention, even as Pete longed for the days when the pair of them were nothing more than a faceless couple in a crowd.

And as wonderful as things became, it changed them too.

He hadn't wanted to admit it, not for a long time. He loved Jacks. He loved that he could do these things for her. But just as the lack of money strained their marriage once, so too did the surfeit of it. They both changed for the worse, Jackie becoming superficial and vain, concerned more with overcoming her chavvy background and being accepted by polite society than staying true to herself. And Pete, now the head of a diversified, multinational corporation growing faster than he could keep up with, work became his life and passion. Each hurt by the changes in the other, they retreated into their separate worlds, Jackie to parties and dinners, Pete to boardrooms and offices. And one day, many years later, they both woke up to realize they were leading two separate lives, far apart from one another.

And then there was Torchwood...he never mentioned that.

The end came with more of a whimper than an explosion. Jackie, sitting at breakfast as servants waited on her hand and foot, reading the tabs, fussing that he hadn't made it to yet another of her society parties. Pete had tuned her out for the most part, busy flipping through his emails. It was only when she tossed a piece of buttered toast at his nose that he looked up and saw the tears in her eyes. She'd been talking to him for fifteen minutes and he hadn't even been listening. And all the pleading and apologizing in the world couldn't stop her from sobbing and storming out, off to what had been their shared bedroom before he took to sleeping in his home office of a night. He'd felt guilty of course, had thought about going up to console her, to assure her that he loved her, but had no desire to tangle with Hurricane Jackie first thing in the morning. Instead, he finished his coffee, gathered his things, and reasoned it would all blow over by dinner time.

At midday he received the divorce papers from an attorney that Jackie had hired. He'd been too properly shocked to say anything, stunned Jackie would actually go through it. He'd talk to her, work it all out. He told Miles so, even as the other man said nothing and shot him quiet, pitying looks. He'd begged and pleaded, but Jacks had remained sadly firm on the matter. Oh, of course, they would keep things hush hush, for the sake of appearances and Vitex. He had of course sold that to John Lumic two years before, but Pete was still the face of the brand. It wouldn't do to have rumor run rampant. When the time was right, they would reveal it to the world, tell everyone they would remain friends, and move on. It was for the best, after all. They were different people.

Pete bought his apartment in the city, fully furnished, not that he cared what it looked like. He moved his things from the estate, set up shop there. It was convenient enough, he supposed, and yes, the artwork was drab, the place cold and austere and terribly lonely. And it had no Jackie. And he hated to admit it, despite the drama and the distance, he loved her. Always had. And he wished in that moment he had never said yes to Yvonne Hartman.

The man staring at his reflection in the mirror looked far older even than his fifty-three years. Steam began to blur the edges, and he blinked, realizing that the shower by now was ready, and he had things to do and people to see. Pete Tyler, Vitex businessman, Torchwood spy, the man you could trust.

Frankly, he couldn't even trust himself anymore.


	3. Chapter 3

He smiled, he laughed, he charmed Sherry Wexler. He was honest, reliable Pete Tyler, the man whose drinks made you healthy and kept you trim, a titan of industry in that he had taken a no-name, rubbish tonic and turned it into an empire, while at his heart staying a humble man who loved his beer and his wife. He played his part, grinning and gaping the whole time. And the minute he was outside of the BBC studio, the facade faded.

Miles stood outside waiting. His PA handed him a Vitex without a word.

"God, those things are such rubbish. Why do I have to do them?"

"Your agreement with Lumic. You'd remain the face and sell the brand, man the day-to-day operations, and dance like a monkey if he required. That's why."

Pete glared over at his assistant but said nothing. He may be a prat, but Miles was usually spot on in his sarcasm. "Price I pay for selling out, eh?"

Miles shrugged. He was a good company man, Miles was, and by company, Pete really meant Torchwood. Pete had asked no questions when Yvonne Hartman had assigned the talented and acerbic Miles to serve as his personal assistant, though he did think it was odd that a man who clearly had been trained to field work would be assigned to fetch him coffee and schedule his calendar. There was no denying Miles was efficient at it, brutally so, manning his insane schedule like a field commander. Pete had no doubt that should something truly dangerous occur to him, Miles could handle that too, despite the neatly gelled and dressed figure he cut.

"I sold out because that's what I was told to do." Pete wasn't sure why he felt the need to defend himself. Miles didn't particularly care. But it had stung, selling Vitex. Sure, he hadn't built up the company himself, that had all been Torchwood. For all they kept up their public face of being a technological research facility, putting out mind numbing studies and reports on a regular basis, behind the scenes they moved adeptly, and much of Vitex's rise was due to that adroitness. But he had still shepherded much of it. The company face, the direction, the major decisions had all been his. The company was his baby. And yet, he'd been forced to give it up for Torchwoods bigger agenda. They had made him, he supposed, and they could easily destroy him. And so he went along with it.

"Ours is not to reason why, sir, just do or...be killed or something." Miles barely looked up from the phone in his hand, scrolling up and down the interface, frowning at it in consternation over his thick,black-framed glasses.

"You have a phone?" Pete frowned at the device in his PA's hand.

"Yes, sir, it's how I keep track of your ridiculous schedule."

"Where are your earpods?"

Miles barely blinked up from what he was doing. "I broke one yesterday, I've put in a requisition to get a new pair."

"Broke? Do I want to know how?"

"Like as not, sir, unless you really desire a lecture on the mating habits of the Xanthian puffer fish."

"Is that alien?"

"Yes," Miles replied, holding out his phone. "Your wife called."

Pete stared at the device, unsure of whether to be excited by this or not. It could be hit or miss with Jacks. "What's she want?"

Impatience flickered across Miles' face. "Since I haven't listened to her dulcet tones screaming on my voicemail, I don't know. Why don't you call her and find out?"

"What good are you to me then," Pete muttered, taking the phone and dialing back the number.

"I'd take a bullet for you, sir, but there are lines even I won't cross."

"Right," Pete murmured, waiting for the distinct sound of the line ringing through. Jackie of course would have her pods on, she practically lived with them in. Sure enough, she picked up on the first ring.

"What," she snapped, delightful as ever.

"You called?" Pete didn't bother introducing himself. In the background he could hear the sounds of plates clattering and the bustle of movement. Obviously the party arrangers were there already.

Jackie's tone softened only a little, growling now instead of outright snapping. "You are planning to be here this afternoon, right? I've got too much going on, and you told me you'd be here."

"Said I would, Jacks." He could see Miles shaking his head out of the corner of his eye.

"We have two-hundred guests and the heads of state of three countries coming tonight, Pete, and you can't just fob me off with work."

"Of course not, sweetheart. It's your fortieth birthday!"

"Thirty-nine," she snapped. "My biography says thirty-nine."

That stupid biography. He bit back a curse, smiling tightly instead. "Jacks, I said I'd be there and I will."

"Right. And I hope you got me something good this year. Not like the private cooking lessons last year."

"I set you up with the President's private chef, Jacks." He'd ever heard the end of that faux paux. He'd thought it would be something fun to do together. She'd taken it as an insult to both her cooking and her sensibilities. What else did they have a private chef for? She could use her own if she wanted to know how to make a cuppa. And where was the private zeppelin she always wanted?

"Yeah, well, at least you made it up with the new Lexus. Now, be here at three o'clock. The official photographer will be here, and I want you looking sharp and not like you just stumbled out of a booze up with your boardroom."

He felt his shoulders slump in defeat. "Yeah...I'll be there."

"Good." There was a crash and Jackie swore loudly in a way that would likely shock the likes of Sherry Wexler. "I've got to go, the idiots we've hired just knocked over one of the arrangements, thousands of pounds, down the drain." Without preamble she clicked off, leaving Pete holding the phone to his ear in silence.

Miles merely held out his hand. "Still think the pink, mink slippers are a good idea?"

Pete sighed, handing over the phone to him, scrubbing at his face. "Jacks wants me there early to take publicity shots or somesuch."

"Whinging for a zepplin, yet?" Miles delighted in complaining about Jackie. They'd never gotten on, not since he'd first appeared at the house and had Jackie shrieked at him about coming to do work when she had a personal tennis arrangement for them with the pairs who'd won Wimbledon. The fact that Miles told her that she could shove her and her Wimbledon pair up her arse, and he could help her with it likely didn't endear him to her either, and neither had Pete's refusal to fire him when she'd stormed into his office, outraged. The two had existed for some time now in a state of detente, choosing not to acknowledge the others existence while snipping about them when they weren't there.

"Something like that," Pete sighed, glancing at his watch. "Let's get this meeting with Yvonne done before I head out to face the beast?"

"That description could go either way, you know," Miles mumbled, earning another sharp look from Pete, for which he was completely unapologetic for.

Torchwood Tower sat on the other side of town, a giant glass monstrosity, barely finished when he first had come to Canary Wharf years ago. Emblazoned over its chrome and glass doors was the stately emblem of the Torchwood Institute, a symbol of the old guard, the world that had been before. Established by Queen Victoria as one of her final acts, Torchwood as far as the world was concerned carried out a mandate for research on behalf of the British people, though many murmured they were merely a front for MI-5. It was closer to the truth than any of them would like. Torchwood likely would be offended at being associated with MI-5. Pete wasn't, in all honesty. He was a spy, and that's what they did, ensuring that no alien threat or technology got so far out of hand that it would threaten the peace and stability of the British Republic. And sitting at the very head of the entire mechanism was the woman who had turned his world upside down so long ago.

"Mr. Tyler, here to see Dr. Hartman?"

Pete nodded at the pretty secretary behind the sleek, modern desk. "The usual."

The brunette smiled and rose, leading him into the large, plush office Yvonne had claimed as her own since taking leadership of the institute ten years before. She'd been bucking for it for a while, a shoe in most said. She'd been with the Institute since she was still in her university days, one of the best and the brightest. Pete didn't know about that, but he was certain that Yvonne Hartman was perhaps one of their most driven and focused, and the most ruthless. Clearly, she had no qualms about making the hard decisions when it came down to what she thought was her personal, not just the Torchwood, mandate, to protect Great Britain from all threats.

She stood behind her desk, another sleek glass and chrome edifice, one that suited Yvonne's cool and deliberate sensibilities. She looked as if she was merely gazing out of the window across the landscape of London, looking down on the Thames out of boredom, but in fact he could hear her holding one half of what sounded like a friendly conversation.

"Yes...yes, that's right, I had to order it. Because the Russian Prime Minister worried for the Tzar and his families life, and as one of the last royal families in the world, they rather are a national treasure. Yes, well, I know how we feel about that sort of thing, but let the Russian cling to their dark corner of the world. They were barely into the Industrial Revolution, after all, and if we hadn't stepped in they'd be a screwed, and who'd clean up the mess? We need to get more resources in there? Work with their private sector, else there will be trouble. I know the imperial family is amenable, they've been reaching out for years, but you know, distrust of royalty in this day and age. Right."

She turned ever so slightly, noticing Pete as he settled himself into one of her white, leather chairs, waiting expectantly and pretending not to listen. She smiled dazzlingly at him, even as she continued to speak."

"Well, I have to let you go, Mr. President, it's been such a pleasure catching up with you, but I have someone here to see me now. Do stop by sometime and do lunch? Yes? All right, I'll have out assistants connect. Mmmm...yes, it's been good talking to you as well. Goodbye!"

With a flick of one of her manicured nails, the blue light of her ear pod turned off, and she sighed. "The man could talk for England if given half a chance."

"It's why we elected him President, isn't it?" Pete smiled blandly, knowing Yvonne would titter inanely at the joke. She obliged, grinning at him as she shook her blonde hair, blown and styled artfully today. Yvonne had graduated from the "oh-so-serious" look of a uni student trying to show off to the suits and glamorous look of a power broker. Unlike Jackie, the change suited her. Yvonne always had been able to make the hard decisions.

"Peter, you are funny. That's why I always liked you."

"I do have the charm," he conceded, knowing she would eat it up. That Yvonne had a fancy for him was like saying that the Thames was a river. She'd made it plain from their first meeting that she was interested should he ever tire of Jackie. After all she was everything Jackie wasn't; intelligent, educated, powerful, and well-bred. Which was precisely why he had stayed away from the likes of Yvonne. He had a feeling that a woman as smart and powerful as she was would see Pete as more an asset than a lover. When it came down to brass tacks, Pete would be expendable. Jackie, for all of her other failings, was at least loyal. Well...he used to believe she was.

"The President mentioned that he's going to your wife's birthday party." She uttered the term "wife" like one might say "shit".

"He's on the invite list, yeah. So the Presidents of France and Italy."

"Close, personal friends of Jackie's, I suppose?" One perfect eyebrow arched knowingly and in a way that caused Pete's jaw to clench.

"They are friends. We've had business with them. Business I might remind you that you send me on? I was supposed to be making nice with them regarding the European Free Trade Zone, getting us access to their national production reports."

"I remember," Yvonne murmured, not at all apologetic. "Still, business, pleasure...come on, Peter, why do you indulge that woman and her childish demands?"

"Because she's my wife," he said simply and emphatically.

It wasn't the answer Yvonne wanted to hear. She scowled, her jaw hardening as she shifted from temptress to tyrant in the blink of an eye. "Well, if you have time to give lavish parties for your soon to be ex, then you have time to do the work that has afforded you that lifestyle."

She moved from her view to slip into her elegant office chair, calling up his files on the touchscreen tablet sitting on her desk. Pleasure had given way to business, for which Pete was eternally glad. "Lumic has me busy. Since I sold Vitex to him, he's got me running a majority of the facetime for it, not to mention keeping tabs on a lot of his other corporate interest. I've been mostly busy with the CyberNet project, particularly the media downloads to the ear pods he developed."

"So I noticed," Yvonne murmured, scanning quickly through his reports. "Lumic is leaving a lot in your hands it seems. Why?"

"Part of it is his health."

"That part is true then?" She looked up at him, curious.

Pete nodded. "The cancer spread,. It's only his advanced medical technology that's keeping him alive."

"But he keeps sending out messages over CyberNet?"

"He's dying, not dead yet. He's been busy with something, some secret project of his, very hush, hush, won't even tell me about it."

A frown formed between Yvonne's perfectly sculpted brows as she considered this. "You've not been able to discover anything?"

"Not for lack of trying," Pete replied. "I've combed through the files I can get to. And I've been using the Preacher's skills to see what they can hack into."

"The Preachers?" She looked confused for the briefest of moments. "Oh, yes, your vigilante group." She stopped short of being truly condescending.

Pete grimaced. "They aren't a vigilante group. They are an anarchist society standing against the wrongs caused by modern industry."

"Right! Anarchist, vigilante, what have you, and you don't find it ironic that you, an upstanding member of said industrial society, are fostering a group of rabble-rousing, malcontents?"

"No," Pete replied, honestly. If anything, he found it vaguely funny. Perhaps that's why he used the codename "Gemini" with them. It spoke to the split nature of his world, Pete Tyler, whose face was plastered all over London, working with a group of revolutionaries, mostly angry kids, who thought they were giving a finger to the man and sticking it to him. In truth, perhaps it was because he missed those good old days when he was just one of the guys.. And also because as an insider and a spy, he knew the dirty rotten side of the world that gave his wife lavish birthday parties on her fortieth birthday, a side that he heartily wished he could do something about.

"The Preachers have been able to do the things I haven't been able to do. They can use the information I give them in ways that I can't, and in exchange, they feed back to me with what they find."

"And they've found nothing on Lumic's plans?"

"Not much, I am guessing it's mostly medical experiments judging from the evidence I have found. But Lumic is supposed to be back in a few days. I imagine he will want to see me."

"Right." Yvonne glanced at the file curtly, before closing it, turning to regard him fully. "When he does, drop whatever you are doing and meet with him."

Not an unusual request, for sure, but still it surprised Pete when they had so little to go on. "Why?"

Yvonne's mouth pursed hard. The way it did when she was debating on whether it was wise or not to tell him the truth. She didn't need to. It clicked so loudly in his head, he could nearly hear it in his ears.

"Whatever he's up to, Torchwood has allowed it."

"We encouraged, not allowed," she replied tartly, though that didn't stop the shifty flicker of her eyes towards the cityscape outside. "Under my predecessor, John Lumic was given an unprecedented amount of access to a level of technology that was far advanced."

"That's where he got his steel." It was all starting to make a disturbing amount of sense to Pete, and he wasn't liking the picture that was being painted.

"Not just that, but yes. Technology of all sorts, but yes, his steel, which of course was essential in the building of the zeppelins. Lumic was given carte blanche to a great deal of information. The earpods for example." She fingered the one in her right ear. "Technology that was scavenged off of half a dozen alien items by Lumic's research team."

Pete felt his own pods itch in his ears. "You just let them have free reign?"

"I didn't, no." She defended herself, eyes narrowing, before distaste and frustration flickered across her face. "John Lumic is well connected with very deep pockets. For years, whatever he has wanted, he has got, and that included Torchwood. And now we are seeing the consequences."

"That's why you put me on his detail." Pete grimaced, seeing just how much of his life had been twisted and spun by Torchwood. He couldn't say anything to that, however. He had agreed to it. "You needed an inside man to see just how fast and free he was running."

"Lumic has been notoriously secretive about what he got and what he's doing with it. That's why we maneuvered Vitex into his personal arsenal, because we knew he'd come to like you, trust you, and want to use your talent. Everyone knew Lumic was dying, that he'd have to put someone in charge to help him run things. You were ideal."

That he was. There was no denying it. And Pete couldn't cry wolf, not when he had agreed to that arrangement himself. "Lumic only trusts me so far. He has his own plans and schemes, I see glimpses. You think what he's doing has something to do with what he had access too?"

Yvonne replied by passing the tablet over to him. On it was a picture of a robot, the sort you saw in the old, B Hollywood movies he'd watched as a kid. Whatever it was, it wasn't working, but he had a feeling that if Torchwood had their hands on it, it had at one point.

"What, a giant robot?" He passed the tablet back. "Lumic's got an entire division that does nothing but robots, got some that can hold trays and play footie."

"Not just a robot." She stared at the tablet for long moments. "It was found in America in 1947, it and about ten others, in some sort of ship. Scared the locals, but did very little harm. We obtained two of the specimens for research from the American military. As far as we can tell, these creatures aren't robots."

Pete laughed. "What are they then?"

"Humans." She replied.

Pete sobered instantly. "You can't be serious."

"Human and not from this universe," she continued, her expression grim. "DNA sampling actually turned up one of them as being a man who was perfectly alive and living in Vancouver, healthy and hale. But his brain was in this machine, and had been for some time."

"Another universe?' Pete's brain couldn't quite wrap itself around that. "You aren't joking, are you?"

"Even our scientist believe it's possible, Peter, just no one has found evidence of it Except for this."

Pete had seen many things while working at Torchwood. Aliens, spaceships, wonder drugs...but another universe? "And Lumic knows about it?"

"Yes," she replied tersely. "You can see why, with his current health condition, we'd be worried about this technology."

Insanity...it was all insanity…

"So, you what, let Lumic just muck about with something from another universe?" Pete threw himself of of the leather chair, brain spinning as he glared at the ever-present zeppelins clogging the clear skies of London. He had always known it was a careful dance Torchwood played, denying the existence of extraterrestrials with one hand, while fostering out evidence thereof to those they found worthy enough to let in on the secret. Some had played the game better than most. What disturbed him was how fast and loose John Lumic was let on things that no one kept an eye on. Not that Lumic had done anything, as far as Pete could tell, that was remotely illegal. But Torchwood wouldn't have placed him at Lumic's side if they didn't fear him. He glanced back at Yvonne, who watched him impassively.

"You think he's trying to make more of those, then?"

"He's dying, isn't he?" She lifted a shoulder matter-of-factly. "Some reports say he should have died ages ago, but he's too damned stubborn to do it. And if you had a mind like Lumic's, one that could turn out half the wonders he has with used, broken bits of alien junk, and make as much money off of it as he has, do you think you'd be content with just letting your body fail you?"

"So he's going to try and run it for himself?"

"Like as not, though he'd have to get permission to even attempt it. And he'd need the backing of a major world government to do that."

Pete eyes narrowed as he considered. "You don't think Britain will agree to it?"

Yvonne smiled sweetly. "Why do you think I was just on the phone with the President."

"Ah," he nodded, unsurprised. "And you want me to..."

"Do what you've always done, Peter." She smiled shifted, teasing. "Pull out the charm and the obsequiousness. Earn his trust, see what he's planning. Let us know when you do."

Pete glanced back out the window, at one of the giant zeppelins floating lazily outside the window. Robots with human brains from another universe. What in the hell had anyone from Torchwood been thinking.

"What if he is doing something, and it's illegal? How we going to stop him?" Pete's eyes slid to Yvonne.

"Torchwood has contingency plans for such things." She hardly looked perturbed by the idea. But Pete could still see the flicker of worry in her eyes, even as she hid it with her bright, inviting smile. "All we need from you, Pete, is information."

Right. As simple as that. Pete's gut churned with the feeling this was all going to go pear shaped. After all, if Torchwood had let Lumic run roughshod on them so far, what was to say they could stop him even if they wanted to?

"No worries, Peter!" She rose, crossing to where he stood, patting his cheek with a fondness that was both patronizing and invasive. "Do your job, all will be well, and maybe your wife can get the zeppelin she wants. And after you've met with Lumic, come chat with me over dinner to have a debrief. Maybe 7 Park Place? You and me? Just the two of us?"

There was no mistaking the invitation in her eyes as she let one, manicured nail trail down his jaw. "And you can tell me how things are going with your divorce."

"Right," he murmured, pulling away with as impassive a look as he could manage. "Off to do my duty for my country and all that, right?"

"If that's what it takes to keep Jackie happy, I suppose." She smirked. She knew that wasn't what he meant, but she couldn't help one last dig. He chose to ignore it as he turned on his heels, removing himself with as much haste as he dared, biting back the curse that mentally was repeating itself, loudly. What was the old saying? One man, two women, trouble? Caught between a shrew and a panther, and one of them was going to be the death of him.

And now there was Lumic.

Miles sat quietly outside of the office, flipping through a tablet, only looking up when Pete marched past him. Without a word he fell in step, wisely waiting till they were out of the receptionists earshot. "So, what does the Iron Lady want from you now?"

What didn't she want? Peter wanted to laugh, but couldn't bring himself to do it. "I want you to get a hold of the Preachers, whoever that woman is, Moore, the one that babysits them. I need intel on what they've found out."

"Yes, sir," Miles murmured quietly.

"Get on that. I'm taking the car, driving out home myself. If I've faced one dragon today, I can face another." He scowled darkly at nothing in particular. "Make sure the slippers get to Jackie in time for the party, right."

For once, Miles wisely held back any smart response.


	4. Chapter 4

Pete had never been as fond of the estate as Jackie had. It was nice enough, he supposed, one of the old houses that had belonged to one of the old aristocrats back in the day. Not that the peerage had gone completely the way of the monarchy. You could still find the random hereditary lord or lady still living in their ancestral mansion, but increased income taxes on the wealthy, coupled with growing inflation, which meant that the upkeep of most of these old palaces of the gentry soon outreached even what they could afford. Most of the peerage had sold up when land prices went sky high, taking the money to invest in expensive townhomes in the city and make themselves rich in the new regime of business. Many of the old estates were gone now, made into hotels or torn down for housing developments, but this one had been renovated and owned by various titans of industry until Jackie fell in love with it fifteen years ago. She of course had spared no expense in making it her "dream" home, with fine paneling and marble floors, and Pete had let her have at it indulgently, though privately wishing she'd have been content with their expensive townhouse in the city. The house just never felt like home.

Gravel crunched under his tires as he pulled into the private drive, already filled with catering vans and delivery trucks. He could feel the blood pressure rising steadily despite himself. For all that Jackie was just as chavvy as he was when it came down to it, she took to the life of the rich like a duck to water, and became a celebrity in the media for nothing more than liking to spend money and throwing a party. And admittedly, she was good at it. Jacks had taste, or at least the media thought she had taste, they certainly gave her enough talk shows and magazine articles to talk about it, and the tabloids loved to note with detail the type of fabric she used to redecorate her sitting room and the flowers she purchased for her latest dinner party. Pete merely quietly transferred money into her account and said nothing, even as he heartily wished he never had to look at another swath of silk or bottle of Cristal ever again.

Just as predicted, the house was in chaos. Servants ran through rooms, carrying flowers and linens, orders being barked from some sort of party organizer. He shifted the flowers he had in hand, looking for his wife. "Hello? Sweetheart? Only me?"

He wondered if Jackie could even hear him over the noise, but he shouldn't have been surprised. The woman had the ears of a bat, even with the earpods on, and he could see her gliding down the stairs, a grimace already on her pretty face. He steeled himself, wondering what he had possibly done now.

"Oh, the bad penny," she sneered, even as Pete felt his heart twist at the accusation. "Was this your idea? Don't deny it. It's got your fingerprints all over it. Trust me on this. Oh, I can trust you all right. Trust you to cock it up."

On any given day anymore it could be anything that set Jacks off. It was even odds as to what today's might have been. "What have I done now?"

"Have a look," she ordered, pointing to the drawing room. Between two large pillars hung a sign that read "Happy 40th birthday".

"What's wrong with that?"

"Forty, it says forty," she threw up her hands in exasperation.

"You are forty," he repeated, knowing exactly where this argument was going.

"Well, I don't want the whole world telling, do I?"

He had long ago give up on trying to find any rational in Jackie's reasoning, and so simply accepted his fault in all of this with a sigh. "You're having a party tonight."

"My thirty-ninth," she countered. "My official biography says I was born on the same day as Cuba Gooding Junior, and that makes me thirty-nine, thank you very much. Rose!"

He realized as she called for her infernal dog that this was one of those moments he just wasn't going to win. Instead he held out the cellophane wrapped flowers instead as something of a peace offering. "These are from the girls at office. Happy birthday!"

In older, happier days, Jacks would have been pleased at the thoughtful gesture, even if they were just plain old flowers from the market. Now, her lip curled in mild disgust as she barely glanced at them. "I've got hand sculpted arrangements by Veronica of Reykjavik, and your secretary stopped off at a garage? I don't think so. And if you're giving out presents, where's my zeppelin? Everyone else has got one."

What little was left of his self-esteem ran off to hide as he tried to think of a polite way of telling her he wasn't getting her any bleeding zeppelin because he hated the things, but his already mangled manhood just couldn't seem to manage it.

"Rose, come on!" Jackie glared up the stairs impatiently before shooting Pete another impatient look. "Look, you didn't even notice, did you? Special delivery. Got sent round today."

One of her glossy nails brushed against an earpod, beautifully set with diamonds. And he knew it wasn't a gift from him.

"Birthday present from Mr. Lumic, latest model, picks up signals from Venezuela," Jackie breezed, preening slightly at what was obviously an expensive gift from his boss...well, his other boss. Not that Lumic sending expensive gifts was unusual, he made a habit of repaying Pete's hard work with all manner of expensive items. But he thought of his simple gift, meant to recall a happier time, and he inwardly cringed.

"Why would you want to pick up signals from Venezuela?"

"Well, I don't know, but now I can find out," Jackie groused impatiently. "For God's sake, where is she? She needs a good bath before tonight. She's going to be honking. Rose! Come to mummy!"

On the landing above him the sound of little claws clicking against fine parquet. A set of bright, dark eyes peeked out over the stairs, lost in a ball of fluffy fur.

"Come on! There you are, my darling!" Cooing, Jackie met the dog on the stairs, scooping it up for cuddles and affection. It was about the only thing she showed affection to, anymore. Certainly wasn't him.

The earpods sounded before any further dark thoughts regarding Jackie and her puppy could surface. The feed told him it was Lumic. Surprising, he hadn't expected to hear from him for a few days. Flipping them on, he slapped on a cheery smile that he in no way felt.

"Mister Lumic! Jackie was just saying thank you, that's very kind of you!"

The deep, gravel voice of the man who now owned his business sounded through his brain, rattling, but polite. "Those earpods are hand made. Tell her to take care."

"Course I will, course I will," Pete assured him, glancing up the stairs as Jackie ascended with the terrier in tow. "I don't suppose you'll be joining us for the party? We'd be very honored!"

They'd already extended an unanswered invitation to Lumic, but he'd been ill and Pete hadn't pressed. Still, it was only polite he make the effort, let the old man know that he was appreciative, perhaps see what he was like around people for once. God knew when the last time he had actually seen Lumic at an event was. That was what he had kept Pete around for, after all, to be the face at these functions that he no longer could be.

"The world below can party," Lumic muttered dourly. "Some of us have work to do. My plans have advanced, Peter! The President has promised a decision. I'm flying in now. We'll be at the airstrip at five o'clock."

A decision? Pete frowned. That soon? "Right...it's just that I promised I'd help the wife out tonight."

Lumic was hardly sympathetic. "If the President of Great Britain can make this meeting, then so can you."

Pete thought of Jackie upstairs and wondered on that. "Oh, I don't know. He's not married to Jackie, is he?"

"Five o'clock, Mr. Tyler," Lumic responded firmly. "Famous day."

The line went silent as an image of the strange, robot men that Yvonne had shown him came to mind. Plans were moving quicker than even she had anticipated. Dread curdled inside, both at the thought of just what Lumic was up to and at the idea of having to tell Jackie he had to go and meet him. He rather wished he hadn't gotten out of bed that morning.

Like a man going to the scaffold, he took the stairs slowly, avoiding a young woman in black cargo pants and a dark t-shirt teetering precariously with a large vase of exotic flowers in hand. Down the way from the ornate, antique table that sat at the top he could hear one of the staff cooing to what he assumed was the dog, trying to coax it into the bath. Good luck, he thought dryly. The dog, a present to Jackie on a birthday several years ago, was as spoiled as her mistress was. She got more love and affection than he'd received in the last six years. He'd gotten it for Jacks in the hopes that she might want to eventually think about having a child. They'd wanted kids, once upon a time. But instead of encouraging any motherly instincts, it had simply suppressed them. Why bother with a baby when they had Rose? Besides, she had said, they were both so busy, a baby was work, and she didn't want to hire extra staff to feed and take care of it. And she had her figure to think of, a baby would ruin all of that. And so Pete had given in, just as he always did, all thoughts of a son to teach footie to, or a daughter to have as the apple of his eye, gone. Perhaps the worst irony was that Jackie had gone and named the furrball Rose. They'd always talked of naming a daughter that. Now, that was the closest thing he'd get to one, a dog who hated him and loved Jackie. Perhaps, in the end, it was appropriate.

He found his wife in what had been their room until recently, sitting at her vanity checking her make up. She barely noticed as he walked up behind her, hands shoved in his pockets as he watched her. She was still pretty, even if it was in a more glamorous and less chavvy sort of way. The platinum blonde had never gone away, she had told him once it was her signature, hence why she kept it, but now she paired it with silks and gemstones rather than tracksuits. He smiled at her as she primped, remembering fondly how she used to do the same thing in their old estate flat, meticulously slathering on product and spending hours just getting herself ready just to go bowling.

"What you laughing at," she frowned crossly, glaring at him from her dressing table mirror.

"Nothing," he insisted, still grinning soppily. "Just remembering back in the day how you used to take forever just to go out to the pub or bowling."

"Oh, that." She waved it away with a flicker of a powder brush. "That was forever ago, Pete. What in the world made you think of that."

"I don't know. Guess I'm missing the old days lately." He pulled his right hand from his pocket to tug lightly at a curl that had come loose from her hair. "Our old flat. The old gang. Do you ever hear from them anymore?"

"That group of tossers?" She sniffed, shaking her head. "The moment you got big, they all thought you were the Bank of England, remember. Glad to be rid of them. Nothing but dead weight."

"Not all of them were, though." Pete recalled most of them had been happy to see good old, lovable loser Pete Tyler's fortunes rise. A few of them he'd tried to help out as he could, getting them jobs and such. Some made it out all right, others didn't.

"You ever talk to them?" Jackie eyed him curiously in the mirror.

"No, I never." He sighed, trailing a finger down her hair to the soft skin of her neck. He could see her shiver at the movement, exasperation flickering to light in her blue eyes. "Don't you ever miss the way things used to be. The way we used to be?"

"Pete, don't you start. Not today." She pulled away from his touch, busying herself with cosmetics that he knew she had no intention of putting on. "We have a photographer here in twenty minutes and far too much to do."

"I don't know, twenty minutes, gives us plenty of time to…"

"Stop!" She cut him off, glaring up at his suggestive grin, mingled irritation and amusement on her face. "Just...Pete, not today. We promised no more of this, we can't just...I can't keep doing this?"

The hurt in her voice was enough to break his heart. Jackie so rarely opened up to him anymore, hiding herself behind a shield of anger all the time. "Jacks, I've not hidden how I still feel for you."

"I know, Pete. But that's the problem. This isn't about feelings, it's about our relationship. And we can't just keep doing this, having these larks, promising ourselves this is it, and then falling into bed together, knowing that it's all a lie." Tears glazed her eyes as she blinked up at him. "It's not healthy. That's what my therapist said."

Her therapist? She could talk to the therapist but not him. He held back the growl brewing in his chest, clenching his fist tightly as he shoved it back into his trouser pocket. "Jacks, I love you. You know that."

"It's not about love. It's about the fact that we are two separate people, Pete." She sighed, pushing herself up to stand in front of him sadly. "I love you too. But we don't work. Not anymore. You've got your business and Mr. Lumic to look after. And I have all these things going on. BBC is talking about giving me my own show on the telly. Imagine that!"

"And shows on the telly are more important than our marriage?"

"No," she replied. "But would you walk away from Vitex and for our marriage?"

He thought of Yvonne Hartman then and silently cursed her. "It's not as simple as that, Jacks."

"No, it isn't, is it?" For the briefest of moments she looked quietly crushed. But then she shrugged, slapping a smile on her face. "Still, it's my birthday, no time to waste tears on something I can't fix, now is it? I have a party to arrange!"

And just like that, Hurricane Jackie was in full force again. "Now, I have the photographer here soon, for the official pictures, and then there will be the reporter who will want to speak to us, and…"

"Jacks," Pete cut in, knowing if he didn't he'd never get a word in edgewise. "Mr. Lumic called when you came up. He wants me there at five to meet with him and the President."

That was not what she wanted to hear. "Pete, no! My party! Don't ruin this!"

"I'm sorry, Jacks. You know how he is."

She did. Her fingers went to the earpods, brushing against the diamonds. He could tell she was weighing the price of the gift against her anger with Lumic's request, and probably had already come to the conclusion that Pete had, they were Lumic's way of appeasing her for monopolizing his time. She sighed finally, fluttering her hands as she turned to spin out of the room. "Do whatever you need to, Pete. Just be there for the pics, yeah? Don't want the tabs speculating on what is going on between us.

"Whatever you need, Jacks," he replied quietly, ignoring the ache left behind as she marched down the hallway, shouting orders to some staff member regarding her dog. He sank slowly onto the large bed that they had once shared together.

His earpods rang again, and he absently flicked them on. It was Miles.

"How are things in the eye of the storm?"

"Miserable," he muttered, rubbing at his eyes. "What have you got?"

"Mrs. Moore got back. Says that one of their operatives saw someone they've identified as one of Lumic's cronies. He's been rounding up some of the homeless and using them for experiments."

"What kind?" Images of the robot Yvonne showed him sprang to mind.

"She sent video. I don't recognize anyone, but they are using a van registered to one of Lumic's subsidiary companies."

"What's on the video?"

"Let me upload it." With a few clicks of a keyboard on the other end, pictures began streaming into his mind. A video, just like one he'd watch on a television screen, popped into his brain. It was shaky, clearly done by hand on a small camera. It looked as if it were in some trash heap or junkyard. A can smoked nearby, as in the distance, a van rocked. Unearthly screams of pain sounded hauntingly, as outside of the non-descript vehicle several men stood. One of them, in a suit and glasses, looked familiar to Pete, but not anyone he could have pinpointed easily.

"That's one of Lumic's, yeah." He wondered at just what was going on inside the van and decided he didn't want to know. "These more of those missing people?"

"Yeah," Miles replied grimly. "The Preachers have been trying to track down what they can. Mostly homeless, drug dealers, prostitutes, people no one would notice go missing. The people that society tends to forget."

"And how long has this been going on, you think?"

"Their intel? Months. Never many, no more than five or six at a time, most of the time it's only one or two."

"And no information on what's going on."

"The Moore woman said they only know that they are being taken and they think that he's running experiments on them."

"He might just be," Pete admitted grimly. "Get back to that Moore woman, she's more level-headed than Ricky Smith. Give her all the intel you got on International Electronics, make sure it trails back to Cybus Industries. I want her on it, making the connections. Maybe they can get in there and figure out what he's up to."

"I'm on it." Sarcasm was gone, replaced by utter efficiency. "Several members of the Torchwood board will be at the event tonight."

"Who?" Not that it was unusual. Torchwood's board had many wealthy funders who appeared at most of the same functions Jackie roped him into.

"Stephen Cavanaugh, Jim Brickman, the usual. Keep up your usual profile, none of them know you work for Yvonne."

"And lets keep it that way, shall we? I need to get out to Lumic's airstrip soon. He's coming back, is meeting with the President."

He could hear his PA pause both mentally and physically. "That soon?"

"I don't know, but he seems to have something special he wants to discuss, and I would lay even money it's whatever I've been trying to ferret out. I'll drive over there and call in when its done."

"Jackie must be thrilled," Miles intoned.

"Jacks is busy with other things." He could hear her down the way and cringed at the poor staff member who was getting it on the other end, knowing it was his fault. "Let me know what the Preachers find out, eh?"

"I'm on it." With a click, Miles was gone, replaced by the sound of voices and Jackie's demands down below. He considered which he loathed worse at the moment, Lumic's meeting or Jackie's party, and decided both ranked equally high. He'd have had his skinned flailed off at this point, it seemed the friendlier option. For the moment, just the moment, he thought he had found her, the old Jacks, the girl who he had wooed with chips and haddock and made love to on an old blanket in the back of his buddies van. And then, like that, she was gone, back to her glitz and glamor. And he was back to John Lumic.

He rose as down below Jackie bellowed about the photographer being early and would he come down here so they could get this over with. Without a response he followed her summons.


	5. Chapter 5

He sat at the airstrip, waiting.

The giant zeppelin that belonged to John Lumic loomed overhead, a great, bulbous reflection of the man inside. Lumic had of course made much of his fortune on things like zeppelins and other materials using his steel, and had diversified it in all sorts of ways, including Cybus and Vitex. He was a creative man, one to be admired, that much was for sure, but he had always been elusive. Known for his work ethic and taciturn ways, he had never been a people person, never warm and fuzzy. That was why he had been eager to retain Pete when he'd taken over Vitex. Pete was a well known face in the market, everyone knew they could "trust" Pete Tyler. He could make Cybus friendly, respectable.

None of those things described John Lumic. Callous and recalcitrant, even before the cancer, he was well known for being happier in a research lab than in a boardroom, and had rubbed more than a few of those the wrong way over the years. Still, no denying he was a man of vision. He'd started from not much, more than Pete, but not considerably so, the son of a career military father who had a knack for chemistry and engineering. He'd had the opportunities Pete hadn't before Torchwood. What he lacked in charm and affability he made up for in brilliance and creativity. And the world respected him for it, even if privately they thought he was a giant arsehole.

The official looking SUV in the distance hinted at the arrival of the President, John Cain, with little of the fanfare he normally would have. It was rare that the President of the Republic was ever allowed out of Buckingham Palace without a full escort and security all around him in a long, stretch, and highly armored limousine. He was lightly escorted, which hinted that he was coming in secret. He smiled brightly at the serious and austere man who stepped out, frowning mildly at Pete.

"Mr. Tyler, what's the matter that this couldn't wait till tonight?"

Pete wished he knew. "Mr. President, honored." He took the other man's hand and mentally noted he hadn't voted for him last election. He only felt a little bad about that. "I'm on the fast track program. Cybus Industries have bought my company, so I'm part of the firm now."

Cain at least managed something of a smirk at this, "Some people say they've bought my government."

Pete effected a guffaw at that, more cheerful than he really felt. "I've never heard anybody say that, never! You can trust me on this."

His catch phrase fell flat with the leader of the British nation. He didn't even crack a smile. "I tried your drink, that Vitex stuff. It tastes like pop."

Pete felt his smile melt somewhat into a hint of shamefacedness. "Well...it is pop."

The President's eyes glittered shrewdly. "You made money by selling health food drinks to a sick world. Not quite the ordinary Joe you appear to be, are you?"

Pete let his "you can trust me" facade drop. Clearly, the President wasn't going to buy it, not in this setting.

"He does like to keep us waiting," Cain mused, glancing at the zeppelin. Clearly, he knew little more about any of this than Pete did. "But tell me, you've had a chance to observe John Lumic more than most. What's your opinion?"

He wasn't asking Pete for PR, and he knew it. Cain was clever, much more clever than his political opponents would give him credit for. Pete decided to go for diplomatic, at least for now. "He's very sharp, I'd say. Sharp as ever. Very clever man, brilliant, in fact."

"Then you don't think he's insane?"

Pete glanced at the other man carefully. "That's not the word I would've used, no."

"I see." The President nodded, clearly getting the intent of Pete's words, making his way up the steps to the zeppelin. His own guard stayed at the bottom, save one who followed behind them to the top.

While zeppelins came in all shapes and sizes, Lumics was particularly impressive. Designed to be intimidating, it served partly as Lumic's boardroom, partly as his private research lab, and partly as his personal home. He'd forsaken his own house in London years before, preferring to stay in his zeppelin full time. Some said it was because he could perform his more morally questionable experiments outside of government restrictions, others said it was so he could travel the world looking for miracle cures. Pete wondered if it weren't a little of both. He'd never had a family of his own that anyone knew of, his work was his life. He had little use for the frippery of wealth, but his zeppelin was his one expense, his one demonstration of his immense power and wealth.

A smiling steward met them at the top, politely greeting the President before showing them both to Lumic's boardroom cabin. It was dim inside, only lit where John Lumic sat, enthroned, in his wheelchair. There was a quiet hiss of oxygen as Lumic breathed from a great, automated mask attached to his face. As they entered, he pushed it away, smiling in polite greeting.

"President Cain, so pleased to see you," Lumic's voice was a rumble in the low hum of the room. He turned to Pete. "Thank you, Mr. Tyler for making it. I am sure your wife will forgive me for intruding on her proceedings."

"Jackie understood, and said to say she is disappointed you won't be there."

"I'm sure," Lumic murmured without questioning Pete's outright lie. "It's my understanding, President Cain, that you will be attending. Jacqueline Tyler's events, from what I hear, are always well worth it."

"I'm looking forward to it," Cain replied, nodding at Pete. "With that in mind, perhaps we should get started with the presentation?"

"Of course." Lumic waved to the seats around his boardroom. He nodded to a member of his staff, who dutifully pressed a set of glowing buttons on the wall towards the side, as several, high-definition screens came to life.

"I've asked you here today, President Cain, because I wanted to present to you the future."

The screens glowed as the center one zoomed with graphics into a digital recreation of the human body. It's many blood vessels and nerves endings pulsed with quiet light as John Lumic smiled benignly at the image. Pete glanced at him, feeling his own nerves screaming with foreboding.

"What more is the human body than a collection of tubes and electrical synapses?" Lumic asked rhetorically as the image zoomed into the heart, a muscle washed in blue light, pumping rhythmically. "The heart, little more than a regulator and generator that keeps it all running. And the brain!"

The image zoomed upwards towards the digitized, blue washed brain. "The brain is the center of it all. A highly functioning computer, it is the heart and soul of what it means to be human. Everything we think, everything we feel, everything that makes us who we are resides within the whorls and curls of this organ."

The image on the screen pulsed with life and possibility.

"Humanity has used this organ to dream, to think bigger and more boldly, to conquer the globe, even to see the stars. But for all of human ingenuity they have never been able to manage the impossible. While humans can make life, they have never figured out the science of prolonging life...of living forever."

The screen zoomed out again, now to various amputees. Some had fake arms and hands, others legs, one picture was the close up of a glass eye. "For centuries humanity has used technology to replace those limbs that have failed them, those body parts that because of illness, or accident, or war they have been deprived of. Even hearts now can be replaced and regulated by machinery, which for our ancestors would have seen like witchcraft."

The screen pulled out, now to the original image, a body, nothing more than blood vessels and impulses, the brain shining in the ghostly skull. "What if we could do the same thing to the entire body itself? A failing body is no longer a death sentence. "The most precious thing on this Earth is the human brain, and yet we allow it to die. But now, Cybus Industries has perfected a way of sustaining the brain indefinitely within a cradle of copyrighted chemicals. And the latest advances in synapse research allows cyberkinetic impulses to be bonded onto a metal exoskeleton."

Slowly on the screen the image of the body was surrounded by metal sheeting, layers connecting to synapses, as the image took on the haunting horror of Pete's B-movie robots. He felt his mouth go dry as he glanced across to President Cain. He noted how the other man's eyes were wide in his dark, disturbed face. Yvonne had gotten to him, and Pete knew no matter what Lumic suggested here, he'd never agree to this.

"It's the ultimate upgrade," Lumic murmured proudly. "Our greatest step into cyberspace."

That was clearly all that the President needed to hear. "I'm sorry, could we stop it here?"

The video stopped as Lumic's wasted face turned in surprise, veiled annoyance in his sharp gaze.

"I don't need the pitch. I think we all know what this ultimate upgrade entails." The President shook his head, looking only on the polite side of disgusted. "And I'm here to tell you, John, the answer is no. My government does not give you permission. And I think no government ever will."

Lumic's jaw clenched. "I prepared a paper for the Ethical Committee!"

"Oh, come on," Cain stared at him in disbelief. "It's not just unethical, it's obscene."

Anger flared, but more than that. So too did desperation. "Mr. President, if I might make a personal plea. I am dying, sir."

Cain's horror only softened a little. "I'm aware of that. And I'm sorry."

"Without this project, you have condemned me," Lumic growled. The fine hairs on Pete's neck rose as he quickly thought of ways to placate his boss. "My inventions have advanced this whole planet. Would you have all that perish?"

The President was unswayed, frowning in admonishment. "You're a fine businessman, John, but you're not God. I'm really very sorry, but I think we should end it there."

Without preamble, the President made to leave, glancing over at Pete as he went. "Mr. Tyler, I'll see you tonight. I think we could all do with a drink." His eyes flickered to Lumic who sat, sullen and starring in his chair. "Mr. Lumic."

The other man didn't even acknowledge the President as he left. Pete's eyed him warily. Even at the best of times, Lumic could be taciturn to the point of rudeness. He didn't think he'd ever seen Lumic angry. But he could see it, the raging, hot blaze of it, fueled by disappointment and a dying body that was failing him much sooner than his mind wanted it. He'd pity the man if he wasn't so horrified by what he was suggesting.

"Still, it's not the only country in the world," Pete tried to throw out cheerfully, anything to break the awful silence, like after a row with Jackie. "There's always New Germany."

"This is the homeland, my birthplace," Lumic replied shortly. "You may leave."

Pete didn't need to be told twice. The foul look on Lumic's face was enough to make anyone run. He resisted the urge and simply walked briskly, waiting till he was well down the hallway and out of the spiral, metal staircase before he let his nerves show. The President was still there, waiting for him, as he tried to slap on a watery smile.

"Did you know about this?"

"No, sir, not till today. I had an inkling, though, before the meeting." He neglected to tell the other man why he did.

"And you still don't want to say that he's insane?"

"Is it so insane to want to save your life," Pete offered softly, glancing back at the brooding zeppelin. "I mean, think about it, that's what this is about. He want to save his life."

"And who would check him on this?" The President scowled, shaking his head. "Who's to say that this technology couldn't be used on people against their will. Put their brains in metal bodies, make an entire army of them. Lumic's powerful, Mr. Tyler, too powerful, and he's been let loose for far too long without any checks on that power. And this is the price we are paying for it."

Pete blinked, wondering if Cain knew, if he had put the pieces together and knew Torchwood's involvement...and Pete's. "He was right up there, sir. What he's done has changed our world for the better."

"And that gives him to right to play at things that he shouldn't? I don't think so. You know the old story, Frankenstein? Lumic is brilliant, but even brilliance has its limits. And I have to say no to this, and you know it. I feel for the man, I do, but I can't sanction what he's suggesting."

"Of course not, sir." Pete didn't expect him to. And honestly, he didn't need to prove his case with him. "I'll see you off, then. Don't want you late for the party. Jacks would never forgive me."

The President's stiff smile returned. "Of course. We don't want to upset Jacqueline. Is she having that nice, French red I love?"

"The wine cellar is open to you, sir, you know that." Back came on the Pete Tyler charm as he slapped the President on the back. He waited while the other man climbed into his SUV, surrounded by protection, and watched him slowly drive off, back to the palace briefly before making the trek out to his own estate. As he did, he flipped on his earpods, murmuring Miles' name.

"And," the voice on the other end asked perfunctorily.

"Get the Preachers out to my house, tonight. I need to be kidnapped."

"Seriously? From your own wife's birthday party."

"Means I get out of it, doesn't it?' I need to get out of this, Miles, I'm too close, and Lumic is desperate. He's been denied, the President isn't going to give it to him, he's..." The pieces fell into place then. The Preachers' video, the missing people, the President's dire warning. "Oh my God, he's been experimenting already."

"What do you mean?"

"The missing homeless people! He's been experimenting already." Pete looked desperately around him. There was no one there, no one to speak to, and no one to hear his call. "Have them come to my house, tonight. I am the only one who knows his operation, and he's going to pack it up and move it somewhere where he can get what he wants, and once he's out of here, it will be a hell of a lot harder for Torchwood to stop him."

"And you think that staging your kidnapping will prevent this?" Miles didn't sound convinced.

"I can't compromise my position as a spy for Torchwood, and I need to get this information out there before Lumic gets off clean. It's the only way I can do it without arousing suspicion." He didn't like the idea, especially as the Preachers had no idea who Gemini really was. Chances were high they'd rather beat the hell out of him before listening to him. But it was the only chance he did have. "In the meantime, I think Lumic is pulling out of Battersea. Get that information to them as Gemini."

"If that's what you want." Miles muttered, clearly not happy with any of this. "What about security at your house?"

"Keep the detail low, don't what the Preachers hurt. Also, don't care to be shot."

"I don't think Jackie would like it either. You'll ruin her party either way and scare the hell out of her."

Pete knew that. A small part of him rather hoped it did. Maybe change her mind, if he lived past all of this. "She'll be fine. Just make sure that there's enough to keep the guests safe, and we'll manage."

"I hope you know what you're doing, cause I see this going pear-shaped real fast."

"Me too," Pete muttered, making his way to his car and desperately hoping he wasn't doing something monumentally stupid. "But between you and me, I haven't a clue, honestly.

His PA only managed a sarcastic, "It figures."


	6. Chapter 6

Jackie was so caught up in greeting guests, she hardly said a word when he showed up later than he'd said. She'd cut him a sharp glance, but one look at the dark frown on his face, and she gave up, turning her attention to some American dilettante she was friends with, gushing over her new hair and diamond ring as large as a goose egg gracing her left hand. Pete stood beside her, slipping easily into his "trust me" role, all smiles and slapping of shoulders, welcoming some pop star whose music he never listened to and a French artist who apparently loved to cover himself in paint and throw himself at his canvases.

The house filled quickly. Celebrity A-listers were soon followed by major politicians. Several heads of state were in attendance, not to mention President Cain, and those that couldn't make had sent proxies. He saw the American ambassador had arrived with her partner, and both were chatting up the Foreign Secretary in what Pete surmised was a heated discussion of foreign affairs. Pete left his station near the door, moving to mingle in the growing circles of attendees, shaking hands and laughing at horrible jokes, and making sure that glasses were filled and everyone was having a good time. Must keep up appearances.

In the back of his mind, however, he was strung as tense as a wire.

He'd had no time to give a report to Yvonne, and hoped Miles had been thoughtful enough to do it. He'd not even heard from his PA, hoping he could slip away at some point and ensure that the Preachers had received the information. Ideally, he'd prefer their arrival sooner rather than later. He had no idea how fast Lumic was moving, and for all he knew he could have moved his entire operation out of London, and there would be no hope for Torchwood to catch him.

The music played, appetizers moved around on the hands of staff members in dark clothes. He glanced around the room looking for President Cain, settling instead on one of the wait staff standing by the doorway. He knew if Jackie noticed, there would be hell to pay, but Pete tended to let the staff off lightly on special occasions like this. Most of them were kids getting paid low wages, asked to stand long hours serving food they never ate, and he remembered all too well jobs like that from his own days. Still, something about this girl caught his attention. He followed the line of her gaze to the corner, where the President stood, laughing and chatting with Jackie. He watched the pair of them for a long moment, letting it sink in. There was the woman he loved, chatting it up with the President of the British Republic, one of the most powerful men in the world. Who would have thought it?

"I remember her twenty first," he murmured to the girl beside him. "Pint of cider at the George."

The girl, who had been staring at Jackie so intently she must have been a fan, blinked and blushed, clearly embarrassed at having been caught out. She held up her tray filled with flutes. "Sorry! Champagne?"

Pete considered the bubbling wine. He needed to be sharp for when the Preachers arrived, but what the hell. "Oh, might as well, I'm paying for it."

The girl grinned conspiratorially, and he found himself wanting to grin back. "It's a big night for you."

Pete wanted to laugh. This random staff member hardly knew the sort of night he had planned. He nodded instead towards Jackie. "For her." He sighed, watching his wife. "Still, she's happy." Events like this, Jackie was in her element.

"She should be, it's a great party." the girl replied. Pete wondered what it must be like for her, seeing all of this, a glittering world that was so far out of her reach. He remembered when Jackie had been like that once, a long time ago.

"Do you think," he asked, watching her curiously.

The girl nodded knowingly, large brown eyes wide as as they flickered to Jackie again, her smile returning. "You can trust me."

She said it as if she knew Jackie. And perhaps, with her bleached hair and overdone make up, in a way she did. At least the Jackie he used to know. He found himself laughing at her choice of words, almost the same he used in all of his taglines.

"You can trust me on this," he corrected, meeting her grin with one of his own, teasing.

"That's it, sorry," she laughed, relaxing now that she knew he wasn't going to yell at her for skivving off her work. "So how long have you two been married?"

Pete was surprised she didn't know that, seeing as it was in Jackie's official biography. "Twenty years."

"And no kids, or…"

He should bristle at this perfect stranger getting so personal with him. But instead he found himself almost relieved that he didn't have to keep up appearances with her. He shook his head tightly, thinking of all those conversations over the years. "We kept putting it off. She said she didn't want to spoil her figure."

Something flickered in the girl's warm brown eyes, dismay, perhaps sadness. "It's not too late. She's only forty."

"Thirty-nine," he corrected absently, earning a small chuckle out of her.

"Oh, right, thirty-nine." She gave him another of those knowing looks, as if she was in on the joke. Maybe she'd been about with the other staff earlier when Jackie had pitched the fit regarding the banner. She was funny, this girl. Like Jackie when she was young, but with that streetwise humor that Jackie never got about Pete.. He wondered if she was from the old neighborhood, one of the kids of someone he knew in the day. Could it have been that long? Was he old enough that now the kids of his old mates were now grown up? He supposed he was. Had he and Jacks had kids first off, he surmised that they would be about this girl's age now. That thought ached as he considered it. So much time wasted.

"It's still too late," he sighed around the painful lump in his throat. "I moved out last month, but we're going to keep it quiet. You know, it's bad for business."

It only occurred to him after the fact who he was talking to. Jackie would have his scalp for it, if she knew, fearful of gossip in the tabs. But somehow he couldn't bring himself to care. "Why am I telling you all this? We haven't met before, have we?"

The girl's cinnamon colored eyes widened in shock as she nervously shook her head.

"I don't know, you just seem sort of …"

He trailed off as curiosity and something else stared back up at him from the girl. "What?"

"I don't know. Just sort of right." he murmured vaguely. This was ridiculous, being this open, when he had other things to think about. Out of the corner of his eye he caught one of the Torchwood board members and waved him down. "Steve, how's things? How's Torchwood?"

Steven Cavanaugh stuttered in his pursuit of a leggy brunette in a dress cut so low, he could practically see her belly button. He grinned at Pete who wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "Peter, grand, grand! And you?"

"Oh, busy, the usual." Pete glanced back to the blonde girl, but she had slipped away, back to her work. "Say, you haven't spoken to John Lumic of late, have you?"

"Lumic? He's still alive?" Steven guffawed. A balding, small, thin man, his whole body shook with the force of it. "He hides in that zeppelin of his and never bothers with us mere mortals anymore."

"Really? Not even pestering Torchwood to join his consortium again?" Lumic had tried several times, but as Torchwood was publically funded, he could never get his hands on it.

"Not of late. Seems to be rather done with us." Steven didn't seem bothered, reaching for a passing tray to grab a salmon pinwheel. "I say, though, he did work over Yvonne' Hartman's predecessor something fierce. I'm glad she's taken a hand with him. He was being let free with a few too many privileges."

"Right," Pete grimaced. Even Torchwood's board didn't know the half of it. Yvonne had kept it well under wraps. "Well, he's got some great things planned."

"I'd be interested in seeing what he's got." The other man popped the appetizer in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully as a leggy, dark-skinned woman with a magnificent decolletage wandered by, her slinky, white silk dress drawing Steven's eye like a magnet. "I say, Tyler, if you would excuse me."

Pete watched the lech wander off with a hint of helplessness. Even Torchwood's governing body was clueless as to what was going on here. And he could in no way reveal it, not without hinting at what he was about. He needed to call Miles. He made to find somewhere private, but no sooner turned then he found the President standing at his elbow, an eyebrow arched pointedly in the direction of Steven Cavanaugh's passing.

"I know what you are about, Tyler, and it isn't going to work."

Pete wanted to slam up his natural defenses, let the charm take it's course, but he just couldn't. "Mr. President, you have no idea what I'm about."

"Really?" The other man hardly looked convinced. "How many heads of state do you have here? Half of Torchwood's governing body, and you can't expect me to believe that they aren't here so you can do Lumic's dirty work and convince someone into his mad scheme?"

"You will find no one more agreeable that this is all madness than I, Mr. President, and I assure you that this isn't about furthering Lumic's plan."

"You know I won't support him, even if he goes abroad."

"Sir, that's fine, but that's not really what this is about." Peter felt desperate. Over the President's shoulder he could see Jackie wandering outside into the fresh air.

"I know your wife likes bragging about me at your parties, but even this feels contrived."

Pete could have screamed at him that he was wrong, that he was a spy trying to stop Lumic. But he knew he didn't. "Sir, what if I were to tell you I suspect that not only was Lumic planning on ignoring you, but he had already been running experiments?"

That clearly wasn't what the President expected to hear. "You seriously think he's gone that far? He only just showed me the proposal."

"I think he's gone that far and then some," Pete insisted. "I think he's been using people no one would notice, homeless, druggies, prostitutes, and has been running tests on them."

For all that John Cain was normally a fair minded man, he looked at Peter as if he were mad. "I may find his work unethical, Mr. Tyler, but I don't know if John Lumic would go that far."

"I do," he replied quickly. "I have proof and can get it. What would your government do if I did?"

The President blinked at him, stunned. "Are you serious?"

"As a heartbeat, as serious that Vitex is nothing more than sugar and water and some vitamins thrown in with some color."

Cain nodded slowly. "We have due process, Peter. It would be your word against his, and he's got a bevy of lawyers to protect it all."

"Could you get the military, police, something over to stop him?"

"Let's not get hasty…"

"Could you, if I got you proof, tonight."

"Possibly. But what's this all about?"

"I'll tell you more when I get it," Pete replied grimly. "Just...trust me on this."

The President studied him for a long moment. "I'll do nothing and say nothing until that moment. You know I can't."

"Just give me a few hours...through tonight. I'll get it for you."

"I'll wait," Cain murmured, as someone from the opposition government wandered over, glass in hand, greeting them both. Pete smiled perfunctorily, and with a measured look at the president, made his way out of the situation, looking for a private corner as he did so.

The first number he dialed was Miles.

"They have the information. They should be on their way."

Pete's jaw tightened. He would need to convince them quickly. He had no time to waste. "Patch me through to Yvonne, now."

"Right," Miles replied. He heard the click and whir in his ear as the other line was connected and Yvonne's voice answered.

"How is the party, Peter? Jackie having a good time?"

"Lumic's making these robot men, Yvonne," Pete cut in without preamble. "He tried to sell the President on the idea, but he wouldn't give in. I think Lumic's been experimenting in secret this whole time and maybe already has some."

All flirtation was gone out of the other woman's tone. "You are sure of this?"

"Not completely. I pieced it together out of Lumic's presentation and some video the Preachers sent. He's been gathering the homeless, using them, I'm sure of it. I'm going to try and get more evidence tonight."

"How?"

"I'm going to get kidnapped." He couldn't help the hint of cheek at the audacity of this crazed plan. "Let the Preachers take me and then help them get the evidence we need."

"Peter, you can't do that." Yvonne's irritation now rose to an order. "That's not what you are there for, it would jeopardize your position and put you in danger. And we have operatives that can do it just as easy."

"But none who know Lumic's work as well as I do. You know it, Yvonne."

She did. And she clearly wasn't any happier for it. "This is ridiculous. What makes you believe they will even go along with this?"

"I don't know that they will, but whatever information we get, Miles is under orders to get it to you. Make sure the President sees it, make sure he gets it, to stop this."

"And let him know that Torchwood helped something like this happen?"

"Would you rather have that or an army of robots with people's brains on your doorstep?" Pete snarled, glancing in the distance at the President in the corner with his party. Jackie had returned, marching through the French doors, clearly annoyed at something. No sooner than she crossed the threshold than the entire back lawn lit up in a blaze of white light.

This had to be the Preachers.

"I've got to go, I think my ride is here." Pete clicked off to the sound of Yvonne's loud protestations. How did one prepare themselves for a kidnapping? And how did he get somewhere where Jackie wouldn't be hurt?

No sooner than he had that thought than the sound of breaking glass caused the guests to scream.

Only it wasn't a group of men in black clothing in masks that appeared. Instead, silvery, boxy bodies shuffled in, with heavy footsteps under giant, robot heads. The bottom of Pete's stomach fell out from under him. Too late...already, it was too late.

People screamed as glass crunched into the parquetry, and one of the horrific creatures made it's way towards where the President and Jackie stood. Heart in throat, he tried to make his way towards them, even as John Cain's phone began to ring. He watched as the president answered and had a feeling judging by the horror and anger on the other man's face that the person on the other end was John Lumic.

"I forbade this," the President growled, staring at the wall of silver bodies surrounding him.

Pete stared at them wildly, looking for Jackie in the huddled crowd. She stood there, blue eyes wide and fearful. Everyone in the room did, everyone's gaze fixed on what was going on, holding their breath at the one sided conversation going on in their presence.

"Who were these people," the President replied to the other side. "I demand to know, Lumic. Who were these people?"

Whatever was said on the other side, the President's expression grew more outraged and fearful. Suddenly, the robot standing most immediately in front of him spoke up in a horrific, electronic voice. "We have been upgraded."

"Into what?" A man stood out from the crowd, no one Pete knew. He was in a tuxedo, could have been a guest, could have been staff. He was tall and thin, with a shock of wild, dark hair. By the look he gave the creature in front of him, you would have thought he saw a ghost.

"The next level of mankind. We are human point two. Every citizen will receive a free upgrade. You will become like us."

Pete didn't think he could be more terrified. And then it spoke. Fear spiked across the room, but President Cain regarded the creature with sorrowful compassion. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for what's been done to you. But listen to me, this experiment ends tonight."

"Upgrading is compulsory," the robot insisted with no emotion, no feeling, no humanity. It made Pete's skin crawl.

"And if I refuse," the President demanded.

"Don't refuse," the dark haired man insisted, expression taut.

The President ignored him "What if I refuse?"

The stranger looked at him, pleading. "I'm telling you, don't!"

The President refused to look at him. "What happens if I refuse."

There was a breathless silence for half a moment. When the robot spoke again, it was with grim perfunctory.

"Then you are not compatible."

"What happens then," Cain pressed.

"Then you will be deleted."

Before the cold words had time to chill through Pete's senses, the creature had reached a hand for President Cain's neck. The other man couldn't move fast enough as the fingers enclosed, and sparks of blue electricity arced across dark skin, his body going rigid, twitching and convulsing. People screamed. They began pushing, running, as the dark haired man grabbed the blonde girl he had seen earlier and ran past Pete. In the melee, somewhere, was Jackie.

"Jackie," he screamed her name, attempting to find her amongst the mass of people running and crying. "Jackie!"

There was no sight even of her bright head amongst those fleeing.

All hell had broken loose, with the robot creatures now grabbing whatever random guest they could. Shouts of anguish followed, and despite his fear for his wife, Pete knew he had to run. Turning, he made for one of the windows, out towards the lawn. Glass scattered like diamonds on the brick and grass, and ahead of him he could see the dark haired man and the girl, stopped, a line of silver monstrosities in their wake. As if on instinct, the girl turned towards Pete. "Quick, quick," she called, urging him towards them.

The man looked at him, wild. "Pete, is there a way out?"

The man spoke as if he knew him, though Pete had never seen him in his life. Like as not he just recognized Pete's image. Still, the way the man's dark eyes looked through him was unnerving. He was the one who spoke up, the one who had begged the President not to give in. He knew something about these creatures. Another Torchwood spy?

"The side gate," he nodded in the direction of the fence that led off the main garden. But he wasn't about to let them run off, not without a few answers. "Who are you? How do you know so much."

"You wouldn't believe me in a million years," the man grinned, turning towards the gate, the girl's hand in his, running full tilt. Pete followed, feet slipping on dewy grass in his expensive, Armani shoes. Just as they neared the gate in the fence, two silver figures loomed into their path. The man and girl stopped, mid stride, stumbling to a halt.

Out of nowhere, two figures raced across the lawn towards them.

"Who's that," the girl asked, breathless, as the figure of Ricky Smith charged up front.

"Get behind me," he ordered, as the other man, Jake Simmonds, tore up Without a thought, Pete and the pair scrambled behind them as they opened fire on the two figures advancing.

The girl stared at them, open mouthed. You'd have thought she'd never seen a gun before, or perhaps it was just Ricky Smith. When the firing stopped, she threw herself at him in awed delight. "Oh my God! I thought I'd never see you again! Look at you!"

Mild confusion and bemusement writ itself on Ricky's face. "Yeah, no offense, sweetheart, but who the hell are you?"

Another voice caught their attention, sounding just like Ricky's. "Rose, that's not me! That's the other one!"

They turned to see a carbon copy of Ricky Smith sauntering over, wide-eyed and out of breath.

"Oh, if things weren't bad enough, now there are two Mickeys," the dark haired man complained loudly.

"It's Ricky," the first Ricky retorted angrily.

"But there's more of them," the second Ricky pointed, as more silver bodies encircled them.

"We're surrounded," the girl, apparently named Rose of all things, murmured. She watched them each warily.

Jake did what most of the Preachers did best. He whipped his gun on them and started firing, only to be stopped by the dark haired man, who glare daggers at the utterly confused Jake.

"Put the guns down," the stranger snapped. "Bullets won't stop them."

Clearly, they didn't. The silver monstrosities still kept coming.

"No! Stop shooting now," the man ordered with the sort of authority Pete felt he should be mustering at the moment, but couldn't seem to find it. Instead, he turned towards the oncoming threat and held up his hands, his arms in his tuxedo jacket held high. "We surrender!"

He shot a glance at Rose, baffled beside him. "Hands up!"

The girl did as she was told, glancing at the second Ricky, then at Pete. Unsure of where this was all going, he went along with it, stiffly raising his hands as the dark haired man took the lead.

"There's no need to damage us," he called the the robots. "We're good stock. We volunteer for the upgrade program. Take us to be processed."

Pete wanted to ask the man if he was insane, but didn't have the change. One of the robots spoke in its eerie, mechanized voice. "You are rogue elements."

"But we surrender!" The dark haired man insisted.

"You will be deleted," the voice replied, seeming to not care one whit whether this fellow was trying to surrender or not.

"But we're surrendering," he shouted, looking desperate now. "Listen to me, we surrender."

"You are inferior," the robot coldly replied. "Man will be reborn as Cyberman, but you will be punished with maximum deletion."

Around them, a chorus of "delete, delete" rose, terrifying in its electronic inhumanness, as each one raised an arm up, pointed at them. He was going to die, right there, in his own garden, behind a madman, Pete realized. And he wouldn't even get a chance to tell Jackie that he loved her and that he was so sorry, for all of it.

The dark haired man stood in front of all of the pointing arms. Immediately all look of surrender fled as he straightened, reached into his pocket and removed something that he then pointed at them. A golden energy burst forth from his hand, enveloping the robot men, who bent over backwards with the sheer force of it, disintegrating into nothing. Even as Pete blinked against the sudden glare, they disappeared, misting away as if they had never existed.

Beside him, the girl, Rose, gasped and shivered.

"What the hell was that," the first Ricky swore, starting at the dark haired man.

"We'll have that instead," he shrugged, nonchalantly as he shoved whatever it was back into his pocket and grabbed Rose's hand. "Run!"

Before they could get far, however, a car horn sounded, catching their attention.

"Mrs. Moore," Jake and Ricky grinned, making for the vehicle It screeched to a stop just shy of them, the door slamming open. The silver-haired women he knew from his intell as Mrs. Moore sat behind the wheel, jerking her head at the lot.

"Everybody, in," she ordered. The others began to do just as she bid, but Pete didn't. He turned back to his house, the one he didn't even like that much. The screams that had been echoing in there now were all frighteningly silent. Jackie was in there, somewhere, alone and scared. He had to find her.

"I've got to go back," he said, turning to go. "My wife's in there."

The dark hair man grabbed him, pulling back with surprising strength for a man as wiry as him. "Anyone inside that house is dead," he hissed, eyes nearly black with sadness and empathy. "If you want to help, then don't let her die for nothing. You've got to come with us right now."

"Come on, get a move on," Mrs. Moore shouted from the front.

Pete wanted to shake him off, to pull away from him and tell him to sod off. Jackie couldn't be dead. But there was something in those eyes, far older than the young face that were in, that warned him against it. Instead he simply nodded, clambering into the van. Pete slumped into the seat next to the second Ricky, the one that wasn't giving him dirty glances from across the van. This Ricky, at least, was merely staring at him sideways, as if he were just as fantastic as the robot men they just encountered.

The last one in was the girl, Rose, who kept staring back at the house while the dark haired man urged her inside. Mrs. Moore grumbled about the slowness of their getaway as the man slammed the door shut behind them, and she sped off, gravel flying in their wake. Pete turned to stare behind him at the house that had, until minutes ago, been filled with life and laughter.

What had Lumic done?

"What was that thing," Ricky number one piped up in the silence, directing his question at the dark haired man.

"Little bit of technology from my home," the man replied, almost proudly.

Ricky number two frowned at him in worry. "It's stopped glowing. Has it run out?"

The man didn't look concerned. "It's on a revitalizing loop, it'll charge up in about four hours."

"Right," Ricky snorted. "So, we don't have a weapon anymore?"

"Yeah, we've got weapons!" Jake's sharp eyes cut directly at Pete. Hell, he swallowed, remembering suddenly the small snag in his own plan. The Preachers still didn't know who he was. "Might not be one of those metal things, but they're good enough for men like him."

Immediately Rose glared at the sharp-faced man, anger flaring golden in her eyes. "Leave him alone! What's he done wrong!?"

Pete would have smiled at her protectiveness, if he wasn't half terrified that Jake might actually just kill him before he had a chance to explain.

"Oh, you know," Jake shrugged coldly. "Just laid a trap that's wiped out the government and left Lumic in charge."

Bloody hell...that wasn't what he had bargained for in any of this, not at all.

"If I was part of all that, do you think I'd leave my wife inside," Pete snapped, the stress and fear of the last few minutes bubbling up inside of him, welling with the truth that he knew.

Ricky looked no more convinced than Jake. "Maybe your plan went wrong. Still gives us the right to execute you, though."

"Talk about executions, you'll make me your enemy." The dark hair man whipped on them both, a cold, simmering anger brewing just below his surface, leaving a palatable chill in the air that made both men inch back just a little. "And take some really good advice, you don't want that."

The two men exchanged nervous glances, silently agreeing that perhaps they didn't. Pete couldn't blame them. The strager had him terrified and confused. Who in the world was he? How did he know about all of this? And what was it about him, with his strange energy crystal and that aura of power?

"All the same," Ricky continued, still glaring at Pete, though perhaps a fraction less threatening. "We have evidence that says Pete Tyler's been working for Lumic since twenty point five."

Rose turned to him, disbelief on her face. "Is that true?"

Why did that hurt bother him so much coming from her?

"Tell them, Mrs. M.," Ricky number one called to the driver.

Mrs. Moore glanced at them in her rearview mirror. "We've got a government mole who feeds us information. Lumic's private files, his South American operations, the lot. Secret broadcasts twice a week."

Lord, the broadcasts he had Miles send to them. Pete could have laughed. "Broadcast from Gemini?"

Ricky turned to him, eyes like saucers. "And how do you know that?"

Pete rolled his eyes, heartily wishing he could slap the man and glad, somewhat, that his plan with the Preachers hadn't come to fruition if they were this thick. "I'm Gemini. That's me."

"Yeah, well you would say that," Ricky snorted.

"Encrypted wavelength six five seven using binary nine?" Pete sneered, feeling somewhat mollified at the stunned looks on Ricky and Jake's faces. "That's the only reason I was working for Lumic. To get information. I thought i was broadcasting to the security services. What do I get? Scooby Doo and his gang. They've even got the van."

He spat out the last bit, earning a bit of a giggle from Rose, as Ricky number two jumped in for some inexplicable reason. "No, no, no, but the Preachers know what they're doing. Ricky said he's London's Most Wanted!"

It was Pete's turn to snort and smirk at Ricky, who suddenly looked as if he wished for a hole to open up and swallow his twin right that second. "Yeah, that's not exactly…"

Ricky number two looked utterly lost. "Not exactly what?"

"I'm London's Most Wanted for parking tickets."

"Great," muttered Pete, as somewhere he thought he could hear Yvonne Hartman laughing at him. This was just...wonderful.

"Yeah, they were deliberate. I was fighting the system. Park anywhere, that's me," Ricky tried to defend himself, his voice becoming higher with every punctuation of his protest.

"Good policy," the dark haired man assured him, absently. "I do much the same. I'm the Doctor, by the way, if anyone's interested."

"And I'm Rose," the girl piped up, waving. "Hello!"

"Even better," Pete muttered, as It finally sunk in that it was the the name of Jackie's furball. "That's the name of my dog. Still, at least I've got the catering staff on my side."

What in the hell had he gotten himself into?

Rose looked at him in relieved approval. "I knew you weren't a traitor!"

Did she? How that was, he didn't know, the girl didn't know him from Adam. The way she stared at him, you'd have thought he was some sort of knight-in-shining armor, not some berk who'd let his boss take over the government. "Why is that, then?"

She shrugged her shoulders in her awful, black dress. "I just did."

Such utter faith from someone he hardly knew. A girl, some random stranger at his party, her eyes shining with belief in him, a nobody. Some guy she'd likely grown up seeing on telly and on the sides of buses. All she knew about him was that he was the rich and famous Pete Tyler, husband to Jackie. How could she possibly believe in a man who let all of this happen?

"They took my wife," he murmured, as inexplicable tears sprang to his eyes. She believed in a man who let his wife be taken while he ran and hid.

"She might still be alive," Rose replied with utter faith.

But he didn't want that. He'd rather Jackie be dead. "That's even worse," he replied, thinking of the video of the homeless men and the van. "Because that's what Lumic does. He takes the living, and he turns them into those machines."

"Cybermen," the Doctor corrected him grimly. "They're called Cybermen. And I'd take those earpods off, if I were you."

Unquestioningly, Pete did as he was asked, not able to think of a reason not to. He passed them over to the Doctor, who pulled a strange, humming flashlight out of his pocket and held it up to each one. "You never know. Lumic could be listening."

He passed them back to Pete. "But he's overreached himself. He's still just a businessman. He's assassinated the President. All we need to do is get to the city and inform the authorities. Because, I promise you, this ends tonight."

The resolve in the strange man's voice made Pete almost believe he would see to it himself. "How can you be sure."

The man turned his fathomless eyes on to him, dark and hard, even in the dim light of the van. "I've seen them before. And I will not let them win."

Seen them before? "Who are you," Pete found himself asking, wondering how that was even possible.

In a flash, the steel was masked with a cheery, almost goofy smile. "Me, I'm no one special. Just the Doctor. I like helping people is all. And I'll help you in this, Pete Tyler. But you'll have to trust me."

Trust him? Pete didn't even know who he was. But given the circumstances of where he was at, he could hardly see where he had a choice. "I suppose I have to...Doctor."

"Brilliant," the man beamed, as Rose beside him did the same. "Now, Mrs. Moore, take us to the nearest authorities. They'll think us mad, but we will stay till we convince them."

"They will think we're mad? I'm not so sure we aren't," she muttered back.

"That's the spirit, Mrs. Moore! Pedal to the metal!"

Tires screeched as the woman did just that, and Pete clung onto his seat for dear life.


	7. Chapter 7

A line of humanity shuffled, eyes blank and jaws slack, into the Battlesea factory. It didn't take much for Pete and Rose to slip in amongst them. None of the looming Cybermen seemed to notice their arrival, and fewer still paid attention to them as they tried to glance, discreetly amongst the stony faces, looking for Jackie. So far, in this sea of humanity, no luck.

"Don't see her," Rose murmured stiffly, eyes flickering back and forth. "You?"

"No," Pete whispered, straining to make out a hint of platinum blonde somewhere. "There's too many of them."

"We'll find her," Rose replied firmly. He stared at the back of her own, blonde hair, wondering how it wass a girl like this ended up here, doing this for him.

"What's she mean to you?" He knew they shouldn't be talking, it would draw attention. But he couldn't help himself. He had seen how the girl had been watching Jackie at the party, knew the way she had warmed up to him in the van. What was she playing at?

Rose was silent for long moments, and he wondered if she had even heard, but she finally sighed. "She reminds me of my mum, that's why."

"Oh," Pete replied, not sure what to say about that. "Your mum loud, rude, and obnoxious too?"

An indelicate snort sounded, quickly smothered as they both glanced nervously around. Rose turned just enough he could see the smirk and sparkle in her brown eyes.

"Yeah, something like that." Her shoulders rose and fell as she turned forward again, shuffling in the long line. "Your wife is a bit like her. Not as nice as my mum, but still."

He should leap to Jackie's defense, but sadly he knew the girl's assessment was more true than he liked to admit. "Yeah, Jacks didn't used to always be that way. Life just...changed."

"It does that, yeah?" Rose's head shook. "Maybe, if things had been different."

"Yeah," he agreed as they both lapsed into silence. Ahead of them, the looming figures of the Cybermen brought them both to stillness. He could see the girl stiffen, her head jerk up straight and tall. Pete did the same, trying hard not to even blink his eyes too much, so as not to draw their attention. They filled through the large, double doors, into the warehouse, where the sounds of whirling machinery and hissing steam sounded, rumbling loudly in the enclosed, confined space of concrete and metal.

Their line moved towards a series of circular, metal chambers in the middle. Cybermen stood by, watching the procession as one-by-one, humans walked into the chambers, automatic doors closing in on them. The whirring sped up after that, to a high pitch, like the sound of a buzz saw, and then stopped. All was silent, and the doors opened to an empty, spotless room. Pete watched it, swallowing against the bile in his throat. He wasn't sure what was more horrifying, the clean, disinfected starkness of it, or the imagery his mind created of just what was going on in there.

Somewhere, above the machine noises, a disembodied, electronic voice sounded. "Units upgraded now six thousand five hundred. Repeat. Six thousand five hundred and rising."

Six thousand units? Did it mean people? Six thousand, five hundred people? In just, what, two hours, maybe three? Six thousand people, their lives snuffed out, just like that. Turned into metal monstrosities. Did they even know what happened to them? Were they even aware?

The line moved steadily forward. Just in front of him, Rose marched dutifully. A Cyberman held out a hand right in front of her, stopping her progress, nearly causing Pete to step right into her.

"You will wait," it ordered, before turning away. He could see Rose's shoulders tense.

"You okay," he whispered.

"No," she replied softly and honestly. He could hear the fear. If he could have, he'd have reached up and squeezed her arm reassuringly, but any sign of any such emotion would be a dead giveaway about them. Above them, the disembodied voice sounded again.

"Chamber six now open for human upgrading. All reject stock will be incinerated."

Pete scanned the lines feeding into the chambers, hoping against hope. "Any sign of Jackie?"

Before Rose could so much as shake her head, one of the Cybermen clomped up, staring at him. He swallowed, trying hard not to meet the blank face curiously.

"You are Pete Tyler. Confirm you are Pete Tyler."

He tried to keep his face as blank as possible. "Confirmed."

"I recognize you," the Cyberman replied in a manner that seemed both familiar and utterly disturbing coming out of the creature. "I went first. My name is Jacqueline Tyler."

"No," screamed Rose, even as Pete's brain tried to twist itself around the very idea of what the creature was saying.

"What," he gasped, staring up into the glowing, electric eyes. Jackie had just been laughing at her party, joking with the President, insisting she was thirty-nine and not forty. She had just been yelling at him and telling him that everything was his fault. This...thing, that couldn't be his Jacks. This thing couldn't be his wife.

"You are unprogrammed," the thing claiming to be Jackie stated dispassionately. "Retrain."

"You're lying," he found himself yelling, unable to believe for a second that this creature was anything like Jackie. "You're not her. You're not my Jackie!"

"No, I am Cyberform," it corrected. "Once I was Jackie Tyler."

"But you can't be," Rose cried, tears in her eyes. "Not her."

"Her brain is inside this body," the Cyberman insisted, as if it was talking about the weather and not the woman he had loved. Pete's heart broke, his eyes burning as he stared at all that remained of his wife.

"Jacks, I came to save you," he sobbed. But no tears or regret seemed to affect what she had become.

"This man man worked with Cybus Industries to create our species," the Jackie Cyberman called to the others nearby. Pete's heart clenched at the very idea. "He will be rewarded by force! Take them to Cyber Control."

With rough, uncaring hands, the metal monsters descended, grabbing Pete and Rose and dragging them out of the line. Rose turned to him, tearful and horrified as she glanced backwards at what had been Jackie. "They killed her. They just took her and killed her."

Pete almost felt too numb to respond. Just hours ago she'd been vibrant. He too glanced back at the Cyberman who watched as they were shuffled off. "Maybe there's a chance. I don't know, maybe we can reverse it."

"There's nothing we can do," Rose replied, despondent.

"But if...if she remembers," he insisted, grasping at hope, any hope. He glanced back again, but now other Cybermen had come in, other nameless, faceless beings, and Jackie was lost in the crowd. "Where is she? Which one was she?"

"They all look the same," Rose said. Indeed, the entire floor was covered with non-descript, silver faces, and more and more were added to their number. How many hundred had died just in the few minutes they had been standing there.

One of the Cybermen escorted them towards an elevator, herding them both inside as they stumbled inside the metal enclosure. It did not follow, but it pressed a button that closed the doors, jerking them upwards from the floor, up towards the top of the building. Beside him, Rose sniffed, rubbing absently at her nose, mascara leaking down the side of her cheek. He wanted to join her, to break into tears as well, but his body felt too numb, too raw for that.

The elevator stopped and the doors opened. Two more Cybermen waited, still as statues as they shuffled out. They found themselves in a large control room, filled with computers, monitors, and screens showing them the activity of what was going on below. Pete watched on one of the monitors as arms with giant blades on them flashed and spun inside a chamber, an unknown body being massacred as a moment later a shining, silver Cyberman stepped out.

Behind him, Rose whimpered, but said nothing.

"What is this place," he asked, turning to stare at her white, stoic face.

"I'm guessing this is where Lumic is watching his new empire," she retorted, glaring at everything, including the silent Cybermen. "Wonder where he is?"

"Don't know," Pete answered, wondering that himself. Last he'd seen of Lumic was on his zeppelin that afternoon, before the party. "Maybe he's too coward to see his own handiwork, then?"

"Maybe," Rose sniffed in disgust. "One thing to be an evil genius, another to have to be responsible for it, eh?"

Perhaps. But it wasn't like Lumic, not the John Lumic he knew. Sure, he was willing to leave the onerous task of glad handing and people dealing to Pete, but his pet projects were usually micromanaged by Lumic himself. He should, by all rights, be there gloating over his own creation. It was surprising that he wasn't.

The elevator whirled and sounded again, the doors opening. They turned to see the tall, lanky figure of the Doctor wander in, seemingly in the middle of a conversation. "I've been captured, but don't worry, Rose and Pete are still out there. They can rescue me." He stopped, taking the pair of them in, dark eyes flickering between them before a look of mild disgust had him rolling them. "Oh well, never mind. You okay?"

The last question was directed to Rose, and Pete got the distinct impression that he might as well not exist for the Doctor if Rose was in the room. The girl nodded, her face strained. "Yeah, but they got Jackie."

"We were too late," Pete added, voice breaking slightly. "Lumic killed her."

Sympathy and anger flashed, hot and bright, as the Doctor turned to glance around the room. "Then where is he, the famous Mr. Lumic? Don't we get a chance to meet our Lord and Master?"

One of the Cybermen, who'd all been silent up to that point, replied to the Doctor's taunting. "He has been upgraded."

The Doctor stopped right in front of the creature, studying the blank face. "So he's just like you?"

"He is superior," the Cyberman replied. "The Lumic unit was designated Cyber Controller."

To the side a door opened, gears grinding, and revealing a giant metal wheelchair and a large Cyberman enthroned in it. Out of the creature, a deep, powerful voice sounded. "This is the age of steel! And I am its Creator!"

"Oh my God," Rose breathed, eyes impossibly large in a face as shocked as Pete felt in that horrible moment. "He's mad!"

"You just now noticed," Pete muttered, eyes wide as he stared at what John Lumic had become. Gone was the wasted, dying body, its breath rattling in his chest, unable to stand on its own. In its place was a cold, uniform mass of steel, strong enough to easily crush the likes of him. It sat majestically over them, as it oversaw all that it had created, and clearly thought of it as good.

"I will bring peace to the world, everlasting peace," it proclaimed. "And unity and uniformity."

"And imagination," the Doctor challenged, interrupting the Controller in its pontificating. "What about that? The one thing that led you here, imagination. You're killing it dead."

The Controller stopped, as if regarding the Doctor and thinking him nothing more than a pesky fly in its ointment. "What is your name?"

"I'm the Doctor," he replied, as if it were a challenge.

"A redundant title," the Controller brushed it off. "Doctors need not exist. Cybermen never get sick."

"Yeah, but that's it," the Doctor cut in conversationally. "That's exactly the point! Oh, Lumic, you're a clever man. I'd call you a genius, except I'm in the room."

It was such a non-sequitur Pete turned to stare at Rose who only smiled, tightly, as the Doctor began to wander, clearly lost in whatever rambling thoughts had caught his fancy at the moment.

"But everything you've invented, you did to fight your sickness. And that's brilliant. That is so human." The Doctor said "human" like one might refer to their pet terrier or the particularly cute toddler. "But once you get rid of sickness and mortality, than what's there to strive for, eh? The Cybermen won't advance. You'll just stop. You'll stay like this forever. A metal Earth with metal men and metal thoughts, lacking the one thing that makes this planet so alive. People. Ordinary, stupid, brilliant people."

The Controller regarded the Doctor. "You are proud of your emotions?"

"Oh, yes," he replied fervently.

"And they hurt?"

"Oh, yes." He nodded, something so painful, so aching and excruciating coming to the surface that even Pete hurt seeing it. He knew that whatever was left of Lumic could as well.

"I could set you free," the Controller offered. "Would you want that? A life without pain?"

Whatever the Doctor was feeling, whatever was going through his mind, he still shook his head. "You might as well kill me."

The Controller only considered for half a moment. "Then I take that option."

"It's not yours to take," The Doctor snapped. "You're a Cyber Controller. You don't control me or anything with blood in its heart."

"You have no means of stopping me," the Controller countered proudly. "I have an army, a species of my own."

"You just don't get it, do you," the Doctor sneered as if Lumic, with all of his brilliance, was a particularly thick dunce sitting on his throne. Pete stared at the Doctor, wondering if he knew what game he was playing at. "An army of nothing, because those ordinary people, they're key. The most ordinary person could change the world."

He began to wander the room, then, rambling, like he was making light conversation. "Some ordinary man or woman, some idiot! All it takes is for him to find, say, the right numbers. Say the right codes. Say, for example, the code behind the emotional inhibitor. The code right in front of him."

Emotional inhibitor? What was this the Doctor was going on about? Pete glanced at Rose, who caught his eye and then nodded discreetly towards a camera in the upper corner. A red light blinked on it. They were being watched. And the Doctor knew who it was. He was sending a message to them.

"Because even he knows how to use a computer these days," the Doctor continued to wander. "Knows how to get past firewalls and passwords. Knows how to find something encrypted in the Lumic Family Database, under...er...what was it Pete? Binary?"

Pete blinked when he realized the Doctor was speaking to him. "Binary nine."

"An idiot could find that code, cancellation code, and he'd keep on typing. Keep on fighting, anything to save his friends."

"Your words are irrelevant," the Controller replied, clearly lost as to what the Doctor was really up to. No imagination indeed! Clearly Lumic couldn't even see that anyone could possibly be smarter than he was or outwit him. And there this strange man with his manic eyes and wild hair was doing just that, blithe as could be. And he hardly seemed put out that the Controller thought his words irrelevant.

"Yeah, talk too much," he shrugged, waving it off. "That's my problem. Lucky I get the cheap tariff, Rose, for all our long chats on your phone."

Rose reached for the pocket of her dress, pulling out the old fashioned sort of phones that went out of style the minute Lumic had introduced the earpods. It hadn't occurred to him she hadn't been wearing any. Something clicked then, something he heard she and the Doctor talking about earlier, something about different universes. He stared at her as she palmed the device.

"You will be deleted," the Controller threatened.

"Yes, deleted!" The Doctor spun around, as if his very life wasn't in danger. "Control, hash, all those lovely buttons! Then, of course, my particular favorite, send! And lets not forget how you seduced those ordinary people in the first place."

All the talk of buttons made it click for Pete. Lumic had marketed the earpods as being completely hands free...no need for buttons. One could simply download it all, have it all talk to each other.

Beside him, Rose's phone beeped.

"By making every bit of technology compatible with everything else," the Doctor pointed out.

Rose held up her phone. "It's for you."

The Doctor grabbed it and turned to the Controller. "Like this!"

In one fluid movement, he jammed the phone into a docking station by one of the monitors. Instantly, numbers flashed up on all of the screens as suddenly each and every one of the Cybermen began to shriek in agony. They clutched their metal heads, bending over, as Pete and Rose spun around, staring at them."

"I'm sorry," the Doctor murmured with infinite sadness as he stared at one in particular, that had caught its own reflection in a mirror. It screamed and howled.

"What have you done," the Controller bellowed in disbelief at the writhing, agonized forms around it.

"I gave them back their souls," the Doctor replied calmly, removing Rose's phone. "They can see what you've done, Lumic, and its killing them."

With that, he nodded towards Pete, turning to run for the elevator, his long legs speeding him out of the door, Rose not far behind him. Pete didn't take an extra thought to do the same. The doors opened and they jammed inside, even as the Controller screamed "delete, delete" over and over again in their wake.

When the elevator opened on the floor below, the scene was filled with agonized Cybermen, writhing across the warehouse floor, the people now all completely gone. Whether they were freed or had been turned, Pete didn't know, but they blocked the paths as the Doctor whirled frantically.

"There's no way out."

He whipped around, running back up the metal staircase. Behind them, a small explosion sounded, heat flashing in a blaze of orange. They sped up from it, as the Doctor passed the phone back to Rose. "Call your boyfriend, see if he's got a way for us to get out of here."

Rose only nodded, flicking a button and holding the device up to her ear. Pete could hear someone on the other end yelling as Rose nodded.

"Head for the roof," she called, and the Doctor grinned, climbing the stairs, dragging Rose along behind. Pete gasped, trying to keep up with the pair, regretting for the briefest of moments the fatty lunches and pints of lager Jackie was always on him about. He kept his legs moving, the rumbling sound of distant explosions vibrating the building.

They came up to the roof of the building, as hovering over it was Lumic's own zeppelin. Even the Doctor stopped to stare at it, as Rose laughed in delight watching it above them. She still held her phone up to her ear.

"Mickey," she cried, amazed. "Where'd you learn to fly that thing?"

Whatever his response was, Pete noticed one thing right off the bat. However well he might pilot it, he couldn't get it any lower to where they were at.

"He can't get down here to us. Zeppelins aren't designed to do that," the Doctor said, spinning around, perhaps looking for a higher point. The warehouse had none.

From underneath the zeppelins carriage, a panel opened and a rope ladder tumbled towards them. At its top the dark, smiling face of Mickey grinned at them. Pete stared at the fiber conveyance, his stomach lurching. Should now be a good time to point out he didn't do so well with heights?

"You've got to be kidding," he breathed as the Doctor grabbed it tight.

"Rose, get up," he ordered, as the girl did as she was told. She nimbly climbed up, scaling it quickly. The Doctor followed suit, glancing down to make sure that Pete followed.

"Hold on tight," Mickey yelled out from the depths of the air ship. "We're going up! Welcome to Mickey Smith's airline. Please enjoy your flight! Woo!"

They pulled away from the top of the Battersea warehouse just as Pete began to feel the full on vibrations of the explosions below.

"We did it, we did it!" Rose cheered from above him. But perhaps too soon, as the ladder jerked, causing them all to grasp it tightly, terror twisting in Pete's stomach. He looked down, afraid to see what had caused it.

Below him, the Controller clung on, and Pete thought he could see utter madness in those electronic eyes.

"Pete," the Doctor yelled. He turned up to the other man who held out his strange torch to him. "Take this! Use it! Hold the button down and press it against the rope!"

Pete took the device, staring at the Doctor in wild dubiousness.

"Just do it," the other man ordered roughly. Pete nodded, finding the button with his thumb and flicking it just as he pressed it to the thick, nylon fibers. He could hear it whining and whizzing even despite the growing explosions below, its tip glowing blue. Slowly, he could see the fibers begin to fray and break, much like the last shreds of his own will. He'd lost everything tonight, his career, his home, many of his friends...and he'd lost the love of his life. Even if she had survived whatever the Doctor had done, the fires rumbling below them in their deep orange and yellow would be consuming her right now. His Jackie was truly gone.

"Jackie Tyler," he cried, glaring down at what was left of Lumic below. "This if for her!"

The rope gave way, and the Controller slipped and fell, a totally human scream sounding from his electronic speaker. The figure plunged, down, down, and was swallowed in a plume of flame as it finally gave way and exploded fully. Pete watched him go, a growing coldness spreading across his middle.

"Pete," the Doctor called, and he turned to stare up at him. The Doctor regarded him with haunted sympathy. "Give me your hand, I'll lift you up."

For half a moment, Pete thought about it. He could just let go there. He too could fall into the abyss, let the flames consume him as he fell. But he glanced at Rose, who watched him with pleading eyes, and found he couldn't. Instead, he nodded, and reached up to the Doctor with the strange device in his hand. Carefully, the other man pulled him upwards, as Rose began to scale the ladder up to the top.

When they all three made it inside, they found Mickey behind the wheel, Jake watching the events below gleefully. Mickey looked so proud of himself he might bust, and Rose rushed to him, throwing her arms around him. Pete watched the display curiously. He'd have thought, given what he had seen of Rose and the Doctor, that she'd be throwing herself at him, not the boy. He glanced sideways at the man, who was busying himself pointedly with whatever Jake was doing, ignoring the other two as he neatly tucked his glowing device into his pocket.

"The power station is gone," the Doctor observed, turning to stare hard at Pete. "Even if she survived…"

"Jackie's dead," Pete cut him off harshly, more than he intended to. Rose and Mickey turned, and he could see the sadness on both of their faces. "She was gone before I could even get there to save her."

"I'm so sorry," the Doctor murmured. And somehow, Pete knew that he was. The aching hurt he had witnessed earlier rang in the Doctor's words, and he wondered again who in the hell this man was who carried around that pain with him and still managed to do what he did that night.

"Yeah," Pete replied, feeling too tired and empty to say anything else. "Yeah."


	8. Chapter 8

They landed at Lumic's airstrip. The place was deserted, but in the distance they could see the glow of the Battersea fires and the hear the growing panic of horns and sirens, as escaping people created mass chaos in the streets, trying to figure out what was going on. Rose immediately logged into the network on her phone, and it appeared to be just as chaotic, with the Cybus servers down.

"Lumic would have used the network to get everyone to Battersea. Chances are that their earpods don't work, the entire communication network is down." Pete stared hard into the darkness. They had all been so dependent on their communication system. It was how Lumic had played them all.

"Who would be in charge of it now," the Doctor asked.

"I don't know," Pete admitted, thinking of the disembodied voice and the sixty five hundred people already gone. "Chances are whoever it's supposed to be is dead."

His entire world was changed, overnight. Yesterday, he'd been a man of power and influence, with a glamorous wife and a secret life as a spy. Today, he wasn't even sure who was alive anymore, what parts of that life even remained. They were all going to be stuck like that, trying to figure out what their place was in this new world that John Lumic had left behind, formed because he was too afraid to die.

"What's going to happen now," Rose asked, wrapping her arms around herself. It occurred to Pete just how very cold it was outside. It was only February, six weeks till spring. The girl shivered.

"It's going to be chaos for a while," he admitted. "If the Vice President made it, she'll have to take over. That's if she lived. She might have done, Harriet was never one for the earpods, always said they made her ears itch."

The Doctor blinked at him curiously, a small smile tugging at his face. "Harriet? Not Harriet Jones?"

"Yeah," Pete frowned at him as if it should be obvious. "She was on Cain's ticket. Surely you heard about that."

"Nope, missed that! Not from around these parts," the Doctor breezed, turning to Rose with a grin. "So, Harriet Jones will be President in this world. How about that? Hope she turns out better than our Harriet Jones did, she would have been a fabulous Prime Minister if she hadn't ignored me and killed the Sycorax."

His words jolted Pete, who remembered what they had said earlier about another universe, saying something about "our world". He stared wildly between them, but the Doctor was already caught up in himself again, turning towards Mickey.

"Mickey, somewhere back at the mansion is my suit." He plucked at the tuxedo he wore with mild distaste. "Think I left it in a guest toilet. You and Jake can you go and fetch it for me?"

"What? Don't you have another? You want me to be your errand boy," Mickey whined immediately, clearly put out with this task.

"You just saved the world, Mickey Smith! What are you complaining about," the Doctor shot back. "The roads are clear at the moment, everyone's in the heart of the city, it will take you what...forty-five minutes? Bet Jake with his driving skills can get you there and back in an hour. Gives me time to work on the TARDIS."

He spun to face Pete as Mickey pouted and glanced at Jake, who shrugged gamely and eyed one of the large, military style security jeeps parked empty beside them. The Doctor ignored them as he studied Pete speculatively. "If I got a car running for you, can you take me to my ship?"

His ship? "Like a spaceship?"

"Well, more like a time and space ship, but yeah," the Doctor shrugged, as if it were inconsequential. "I have the power cell, it should be charged now, and I need to get her back home."

Pete didn't think he could take any more madness that day, but there it was. This strangely named, insane man had a time and space ship. Something about it all just made him laugh; an aching, hysterical laugh. "Sure, mate, whatever...I just...of all the things I've seen tonight, I'd be willing to take you to your ship."

"Brilliant!" Out came his strange device, glowing as he aimed it at the jeep closest to Jake. It started without a hitch. "Mind, keep that thing going when you run inside the house, else you won't be able to turn it on again to get back."

Jake looked stunned, but Mickey looked hardly surprised. "Sure, boss! Be back soon as we can." He climbed in before Jake could protest, and jerked his head at the other man. Jake quietly climbed inside, looking as if he were afraid the car might burst into flames around him.

"Meet us at the TARDIS, right," the Doctor called as Mickey peeled out of the parking lot and into the darkened street. "Will be a wonder if he doesn't kill himself."

"Doctor," Rose protested, though she looked as if she half agreed with him.

"Off we go!" He ignored her, flashing his device at the next jeep. It too started with a rumble. Pete stared at it, confused as to what it was even doing.

"What is that?"

"This?" The Doctor held it up as if it were simply a pen or a butter knife. "It's my sonic screwdriver."

"Your sonic...screwdriver?" Pete stared at it. It didn't look like much of a screwdriver.

"Well, it's more than just a screwdriver, yeah, it does so many other interesting things, like welding things, and heating things, and…"

"Screwing things," Rose offered with a teasing grin, her tongue peeking between her teeth.

The Doctor flushed, clearly put out with her interruption and her innuendo. "It's a dead useful device, is what it is."

Pete reached a hand out for it, curious. He'd always been handy with electronics and such, had a knack for it as a kid, but he'd never seen anything like this. The Doctor obliged, allowing him to study it, flipping it round and round.

"It works with sonic technology," the Doctor explained, as if he was showing off his first born. "Everything has a frequency that reacts to sonic waves. You resonate them the right way, you can make all sorts of things happen."

"Like make your toaster explode," Rose offered again, chortling at the Doctor's annoyed expression. Pete watched the pair of them, considering. Whoever this Doctor was and whoever this girl was, how they could be so light-hearted after what they had seen that night was beyond him. But then, he reasoned, perhaps that was how they coped with it, the tragedy of it, this banter. Lord knows he'd do the same thing if it were him, crack a joke, be a smartass, anything not to feel that horror.

"I'd love to look at something like this, sometime." Pete handed it back to its owner. "It would be a dead useful product."

"Oh, Pete," the Doctor sighed, a faint smile on his thin face. "Good, old Pete,! Always the schemer and planner. It's so good to see you succeed at it all this time around. But I can't. Not this. I think your world has had enough problems with technology it couldn't handle."

This time around? Pieces were falling into place for Pete, but he was almost too afraid to consider what it all meant, what the presence of these two meant for his reality. Not that there was much of it left, not after tonight.

"Come on," Pete growled, turning towards the running car. "Let me run you to your spaceship, yeah?"

They climbed inside the vehicle in silence.

Clearly, even if the Doctor wasn't from around there, he knew London enough to find his way. He guided them to a park not far from the river, with a quaint rock building that had been put there sometime during the Old Queen's reign as a lookout for water traffic up and down the Thames. There was nothing spectacular about any of it, just a small patch of grass with newspapers floating across it, frail as ghosts, and sprawling oaks that hung over an old, blue police box, the kind kind like Pete hadn't seen since he was a kid.

"So, I guess that your ship is somewhere around here?" Pete looked around, but didn't find evidence of anything even so much as a zeppelin. The Doctor nodded enthusiastically.

"That's her! The blue box. Camouflage." He climbed out, eagerly making his way across the lawn to where the box stood. He pulled a key out of his pocket and inserted it in, going inside. It was dark, whatever it was. Pete glanced at Rose dubiously.

"He's not making it up, believe me," she laughed, a broad smile that made even him grin. Despite himself, he liked her, this crazy girl that seemed to take it in stride.

"How does a good girl like you end up in...madness like this," he wondered aloud.

She blushed, shrugging. "I don't know. Just sort of happened. One day I went to work, like always, and this bloke showed up and blew it up. Turns out aliens were invading the store and he was saving the world." She snorted, rubbing her forehead as she considered what she just said. "Does that sound as mad to you as it did saying it?"

Pete chuckled. "Yeah, it kinda did, but on a night like tonight...I'm willing to believe just about anything, me."

"Aliens don't scare you then?"

He shrugged at her speculative look and decided not to mention the fact that he worked with a research institute that dealt with aliens everyday. "Guess after Cybermen, no."

"Right." She sobered, turning to stare at her feet in her trainers. "Anyway, I started traveling with the Doctor after that. Was better than what I had going on, living on the estates, working a dead end job. At least with this, I could go somewhere, see some stuff, do….do good things. Get to know people. Help them out. Be and do something more than just live on tea and toast and telly every night."

Pete studied this girl, this stranger who blundered into his lworld. She was so full of life, so eager and curious and wanting to see the world. She wanted to do great things, to be so much bigger than her chavvy roots. And she reminded him painfully of someone else he used to know, a long, long time ago. And that thought terrified him. His instincts screamed at him, told him he was right, that all this talk of others worlds, of Harriet Jones as a Prime Minister, of the way the girl looked at Jackie, of how she reacted when she discovered her fate, of the way she warmed to Pete. He knew it in his gut, and he didn't want to know it, not now, not tonight.

Banging sounded from inside the box, and what sounded like cursing. Rose jumped at the sound, glancing towards the open doors. "You all right?"

"Yes," came the hissed response.

She smiled, rolling her eyes. "He gets like that."

Pete nodded, staring into the darkened door, not seeing how the Doctor could be up to anything. Just as suddenly as the thought occurred to him, however, the box lit up with a golden glow, filling the cold night with light. Above its doors, the "police box" sign came to life. It was amazing...and beautiful.

And the thought of what it represented rankly terrified him.

"So, what happens inside that thing," he laughed.

"Do you want to see?"

Yes, his brain said. But the terror of the night, of everything, of what happened got the better of him. Hadn't Yvonne said those things came from another universe, originally? "No, I don't think so." The question lay there in his mind, waiting to be asked. He might as well. Whatever else he did. "But you two, you know...all that stuff about different worlds. Who are you?"

Even before the girl said a word he knew the truth. He could see it in the arch of her eyebrow, in the way her eyes flickered as she searched for words. And it hit him in the gut with the utter unfairness of it all.

"It's like you say," she replied, her lips pulling back in a tight, nervous smile. "Imagine there are different worlds, parallel worlds. Worlds with another Pete Tyler, and Jackie Tyler's still alive...and their daughter."

Jackie...still alive somewhere...and with his daughter. This...this he couldn't live with, not now, now knowing this so soon after his wife died. Not fair, not fair, not fair…

"I've got to go," he murmured, despite the utter hurt on the girl's face. His feet were already stumbling back from her.

"But if you look inside," she pleaded.

"No, I can't," he insisted, knowing it was an excuse, afraid of the temptation, of the enticement of what she was offering. Not like this, not with Jacks' ashes barely cooling somewhere in Battersea. "There are all those Lumix factories, all those Cybermen still in storage. Someone's got to tell the authorities, carry on the fight."

The disappointment from Rose was palatable. From the door, he could hear the Doctor call, softly. "Rose, I only have five minutes of power. We've got to go."

She was offering him a second chance, he knew it. But not with his wife. Not with the woman he had fallen in love with.

"The Doctor could show you," Rose insisted.

He couldn't do this. He turned, wanting to run, his mind already fracturing under the weight of everything.

"Thank you," he called, a part of him truly feeling that emotion, of knowing what these two did for the world. "For everything."

"Dad," Rose called. It lanced through Pete, right to his gut, aching nearly as badly as Jackie's brain in the cyber body had.

"Don't!" He looked at her, begging her not to say it again. "Just...don't."

Despite the tears in her eyes, he turn and ran.

He was three blocks away when he heard the sound of gears grinding and something wheezing and groaning. He slowed then, turning to see a flash of light that disappeared as suddenly as it had come. And he knew in his heart that the Doctor and the girl, Rose, who claimed to be his daughter, were gone.

He wandered after that, not caring where. The streets were still quiet, eerily so, though he could hear more chaos in the distance. He wondered if the stragglers were making their way home. He walked and walked, not even noticing where his feet led him. Through shopping districts, all their lights still on, their window displays looking as if nothing was wrong, past residential flats, still glowing with ghostly televisions, playing to empty rooms, a cinema where the doors stood open, the marque still lit for business. On and on he walked, for miles, more than he knew. And it was only when the eastern sky began to turn the faintest of pearly grays did he look up and find himself in a neighborhood he knew like the back of his hand.

The old building was just as square and gray as it had ever been been. The plaza still smelled of spilled beer, old piss, and hung over vomit. With aching steps, he crossed to the familiar stairs, up the four flights, down five doors to the one that he had stormed out of so many years ago. That had been the start. That had changed everything, that night had.

The door was wide open, the occupants still missing. He stepped inside, looking it over. The layout was different now, the way they did their furniture. The couch he used to make love to his wife on was gone, now replaced by a well worn, functional sofa, where someone's forgotten knitting lay. The picture that had once hung on the wall till Jackie had tossed a vase at him and broke it was now replaced by a different photograph, one of a retired looking couple. Their television still blared, however, as if trying to reach its likely nearly deaf occupants. A frantic looking newscaster was on, jabbering about the chaos and confusion in the city center. Pete reached across and turned it off.

Silence reigned in the tiny home.

He walked back out again, closing but not locking the door, in case the occupants returned.

It wasn't till he was down the steps again and across the plaza that he realized he was crying. It wasn't till he was down the block that it occurred to him he was sobbing. By the time he reached the bend in the road he was howling, his grief ringing off the stained concrete, his legs giving way as he fell to the cobblestones and pavement and openly wept. Hot tears burst through screwed up eyelids as covered his head with his arms, curled in on himself, and wished that he too could have died.

He hadn't realized he'd fallen asleep.

How long he had been there, he wasn't sure. The sun was fully up by then, but the streets were still just as eerily still. Some life was back, some voices in the distance, names called, the cry of a mother, or brother, or child. Pete blinked, wondering what had woken him.

A rough hand grabbed him by the shoulder, pulling him over and shaking him. "_Oi_, Pete, can't be lying here like this."

Pete blinked through gummy eyes up at the round, dark face of Mickey Smith. His brain buzzed in a foggy confusion. "What are you doing here?"

"I should ask you the same thing, lying in the street like that, thought you was dead." Mickey snorted, shoving a mug of something hot and pungent under his nose. "Coffee, Gran's, drink up."

Pete didn't even have enough brain cells to question it. He peeled his cheek off the pavement, pushing himself up to a sitting position. Dust and grease coated his skin, and his suit felt as if he'd drug it through a swamp, despite the chill air, but he took the mug and sipped it. The coffee was dark, strong, and had the flavor of burnt rubber tires, but it had the effect of waking him up.

"Yeah, always did taste like it would eat through metal, but don't tell Gran that." Mickey smirked fondly as he squatted in front of Pete.

"Gran? Your Gran?" Pete was finding the thread of reality was unraveling around him fast.

"Well, Ricky's Gran, yeah. But, she's the same as my Gran. Even down to the way she smacks me in the head." Mickey rubbed the back of his close shaved head gingerly. "Still stings."

"She's still here?" Pete looked wildly up and down the street, not seeing a soul, but hearing a television somewhere.

"Well, she's in the house." Mickey pointed to the door just behind him. "That's it. She was asleep last night when everything happened, took her earpods out. Missed the whole thing, she did, and then slapped me when I tried to tell her the truth."

Didn't even notice the world go upside down? Pete marveled as he glanced towards the door. "And she doesn't realize you aren't Ricky?"

"Well look and sound just like him, don't I?" Mickey shrugged, hardly looking ashamed. "Gran went blind when I was fifteen, I'm guessing the same happened here. She wouldn't notice."

Pete thought of Rose. Something deep inside of him rumbled with rejection of what Mickey was at. "She's not your grandmother, Mickey."

"She is in all but fact, isn't she?" He cocked his head, hardly looking ashamed by what he was doing. "Besides, her Ricky is dead. And she's all alone now. He'd take care of her if he were here, but he ain't. So who is? I'm all she's got."

It seemed so wrong, felt so wrong, this imposter as this poor woman's grandson. "You should tell her the truth."

"And what? Break her heart?" Mickey glared at him hard. "Ricky weren't the greatest of grandsons when he were alive. Neglected her. Same as I did my Gran, and believe me, when mine died, I regretted that every moment afterwards. I know he'd want someone to make sure she was all right."

Pete wanted to protest further. But there was truth in the boy's words, for all that they bothered him. All he wanted to do was take care of the grandmother of his double. And if she were blind, like he said, like as not she would never notice. She'd be alone otherwise.

"Fine," he muttered, gulping down another mouthful of the hot, putrid liquid. "So you stayed to take care of your Gran? You didn't go home with the Doctor and Rose?"

"Nah," he shook his head, setting on the pavement beside Pete, pushing his back against the concrete wall. "They do good enough on their own without me. Don't need Mickey the Idiot, the tin dog, around to get in the way of their fun."

There was more than a hint of bitterness in the boy's voice. He recalled the night before, the way Rose was so familiar with Mickey, but the intimacy that she displayed around the Doctor. She likely wasn't even aware she was doing it, the mixed signals. She perhaps didn't even understand the hurt she was causing a young man who seemed to be rather attached to her.

"The Doctor come in and steal your girl, then?" Pete asked it lightly, trying to tell himself he really didn't care about knowing more about Rose or her life.

"Something like that," Mickey muttered, shrugging as he tipped his head back to look at the sky. "I was a normal bloke once. Had a job at a garage, messed about with computers on the side, dated a nice girl, had a normal life. And then one day, this mad alien in a blue box shows up in my life and turns it all upside down."

"The Doctor is an alien?" Pete would never have guessed that looking at him. He appeared as human as Pete did. Well, except for those dark eyes. Those looked alien...foreign. Too old for such a young, handsome face.

"Oh, yeah," Mickey laughed. "Something called Time Lords. Pompous prats is what I call them. I guess he's all that's left of them or something. Anyway, he shows up one day, swoops Rose off with him, doesn't bother bringing her back for a year. Next thing you know, there's aliens flying into Big Ben, and blowing up Downing Street, and space ships showing up on Christmas Day, and bat things taking over high schools. Madness, I tell you."

Pete could only laugh at Mickey's disgruntlement, a long, loud, belly laugh that rang in the stillness around them. Aliens! That he could handle, those he knew. It just tickled him so much to hear Mickey carry on, as if Cybermen were nothing. He wasn't even terribly sure why he found it all so funny.

"You think it's hilarious," Mickey muttered, darkly. "I was up for murder suspicion 'cause Jackie had the word out in the neighborhood I'd kidnapped and killed her daughter."

The name of his dead wife sobered him. Mickey said it so casually, as if he knew her intimately. Perhaps, in his world, he had. "You knew Rose's family, then? Back in your world?"

"Yeah," Mickey snorted, meeting Pete's sharp gaze. "I know you want to ask, she's probably told you. Her name is Rose Tyler. Rose Marion Tyler. God's truth."

Rose Marion Tyler. His mother had been named Marion. He'd always wanted to use it, if he'd had a daughter. "And her parents were…"

"Her parents are Pete and Jackie Tyler," Mickey replied, giving Pete a hard look. "Yeah, she's just what she told you."

"She's not my daughter," he snapped, anger rising before he could stop himself. The coffee sloshed over the rim, and he switched hands, flicking it off.

"No, she's not. Her dad's dead."

Pete stopped, heart seizing. He whipped his hand around to regard Mickey's stony face. "What did you say?"

"Pete Tyler, the Pete I knew, died when Rose was just a baby."

Pete stared at the boy. He was dead in another universe? Had been for what...twenty years, give or take, judging the girl's age. "And Jackie?"

"Oh, she's alive and well. Still on the estate." Mickey's face softened as he chuckled. "The only other woman who'd slap me when I needed it, which was most of the time, judging by how often she done it. Jackie Tyler was mean."

The slapping. That sounded like Jackie. "So, she's alone back there, in your world?"

"Yeah," Mickey nodded. "I mean, Rose goes back and visits, but not enough if you ask me. Too busy running through space with the Doctor."

The idea that Jackie was alive and well in another universe. He thought of Rose's offer. Now he knew why she had made it. Her mother was alone. And her father was gone, never had been in her life. No wonder she had stared at him as if he was equal parts myth and mystery.

"How did it happen?" He had to know. As much as it sounded macabre to ask, he had to know.

"What? You dying?"

"Yeah," Pete pressed, despite the discomfort on the other man's face.

"I don't remember much," Mickey admitted. "I wasn't but five or so. Was at a wedding, Sarah Clark. You know her?"

The name rang a bell. A dark haired woman, one of Jackie's close friends back in the day. "Yeah, Sarah. Married some guy named Stu, didn't she? His family outclassed her a bit, but he'd got her up the duff and he wanted to do right by her."

"Yeah, that's her," Mickey nodded. "In our world they got married and moved out and had a house full of babies. Still married and living in the suburbs, I hear, happy as clams."

"Not the Sarah and Stu I know," Pete sniffed, thinking on what the last bit of gossip he'd heard from Jackie was. "He was caught stepping out on her, and she left with the kid and got a big fat alimony settlement from him."

Mickey whistled, shaking his head at the differences. "What a difference a world makes."

"Yeah, 'cause in your world, I have a daughter and I'm dead. How did it happen?"

"The daughter? There you're on your own, mate." Mickey held up his hands.

"The dead part, Mickey."

"Right," he sighed, giving in. "Anyway, Sarah Clark's wedding. I was there with Gran, but she'd stepped out. I don't know what happened. I just know I was there with Jackie when everything went down."

Mickey paused, a sad, far-away look in his eye as he looked anywhere but Pete. "Like I said, I wasn't more than just a little kid. I don't know what happened. Jackie said later she thought maybe you had realized you left something in the car. Maybe it was the wedding present, I don't know. All anyone knows is that you were in the middle of the street when a car hit you."

Mickey used the world "you", but Pete couldn't think of it in terms of himself. It was a stranger, some other man who carried his face and name, who had been unlucky enough to be hit outside of a wedding at a church. A wedding he could remember going to in this life, where no such thing had happened. But then, he'd been rich then already, still just flush in cash. He and Jackie had gotten the couple a set of silverware from Harrods or something.

"I don't know for sure how it all happened," Mickey continued. "I didn't see nothing. But I won't forget Jackie's scream." His voice dropped, his expression so grave.

"I was standing with her and Rose. I just remember her screaming. Like to tear your ears off, you would have, if you'd heard it. Don't think I've heard Jackie make a noise like that since. Screaming 'Pete' over and over, Rose in her arms. Gran found me by then, held me back, but I could still hear her crying and wailing." Mickey rested his forearms on his bent knees.

"You were dead before the ambulance got there. Nothing they could do. Rose was just a baby, and Jackie had to take care of her. She don't talk about it much, but it was hard. Real hard."

Pete listened to Mickey's story quietly, thinking of his own pain and grief at the loss of his wife of twenty years. That was unbearable. But even in that, he knew their love wasn't what it had been. It sounded, from Mickey's story at least, that the Jackie he knew had lost him in their prime, before the bitter years could build the distance between them. Worse, he had left her with their daughter, a child that this other Jackie wasn't afraid to have. And she had to bury all the grief, carry on, if nothing else to see that their daughter lived and survived.

And turned into the amazing young woman he met the night before. The brilliant, courageous, insane young girl he had identified with, because she was so very much like he had been once upon a time. And he had rejected her last night. He had pushed her away, when all she wanted was to get to know him, some version of the man she had longed for all of her life.

"I'm a right arsehole," Pete muttered, downing the rest of the bitter liquid in one gulp. Mickey watched him in amused silence, taking back the heavy mug when he was done with it.

"Why, because you ran away from her when she told you that you were her dad? Mate, I've seen lesser men do the same when kids they didn't even know about, with women they slept with decades before, show up. It's all over the telly, usually."

"But this is different," Pete spat, thinking of the hurt on Rose's face, the raw longing he saw when she watched Jackie. "I mean, I'm not her dad, not really. I didn't make her. My Jackie didn't want to have anything to do with kids. But...I just couldn't."

Mickey sighed sympathetically. "Look, no offense, but you just had your wife and most of your friends die because your boss was insane. Not exactly the best time to have that dumped on you, yeah? Can't say I blame you."

Well, that was somewhat encouraging, he thought. "But you still kind of want to punch me in the face, don't you?"

"You made Rose cry, of course I do. But in all fairness, so did I when I said I was staying. I mean, we'd known each other all our lives. I think she just thought I'd stick around, waiting for her forever."

There was the bitterness again. Poor bloke. He'd had it bad for the girl. "That takes guts, walking away from someone you love." He thought of Jackie and their separation.

"Yeah, well I think she just thought I'd always be there when she needed. I don't think she realized she didn't need me. She hadn't for a long time." Mickey sounded sad, but not regretful, at this realization. "And the truth is, I needed her. I needed her to feel like somebody. But I wasn't what she needed. Me, I was happy just fixing cars, doing nothing with my life. But Rose...she was always bigger than that. Even before the Doctor swanned off with her. I think she was trying to tell me that I could be bigger than that, too, if I wanted. But I was always too afraid, too scared. Rose, she's always been brave about things like that. Guess, I just needed a little bit of a push."

Pete considered last nights events, how shocked Rose had been at Mickey's bravery. "Everyone has to grow up." Even him, he thought sadly. "So, what are you going to do with yourself now, Mickey Smith? Take care of your Gran?"

"Yeah," Mickey nodded. "And maybe...maybe join the Preachers. Hook up with Jake to stop the Cybermen." He dug into one of his pockets, pulling out Rose's regular cell phone. "I still have the codes on this thing. I can do good work. I have computer skills. I may not be Ricky, using a gun, but if I can hack into Lumic's files, I can hack into anything. And I can do a fair bit of damage, right? Make my mark in the world. Do something good."

Something good. Rose had said something very like that. Pete stared at the phone and considered. This morning, he had wanted nothing more than to curl up in the street and die right there. But now, sitting on the pavement, talking to a boy who had spent his entire, gormless life panting after a girl he couldn't get, only to decide to do something great with his life, Pete felt slightly ashamed for what he had been doing. What would Jackie think of him like that? Likely, knowing Jackie, she'd have slapped him, and then yelled at him for being useless.

"Where's Jake," Pete finally asked, glancing at his wristwatch. That, at least, was not dependent on the network. It read nearly eight o'clock in the morning.

"He went back to Ricky's for a kip, dropped me off nearby. Why?"

"He has a phone. Think you can call him later."

"Yeah. What for?"

"I have a plan," Pete murmured, wondering if he could dredge up anyone at Torchwood and if they were alive. "And I have resources, maybe, if Torchwood isn't annihilated."

"Torchwood? What's that?"

"Not something you've ever heard of, I'd wager," Pete pushed himself off the pavement, trying as best he could to brush off the dirt and filthy of the night before, straightening his tie. Mickey scrambled up beside him, brushing off his own jeans. "Right. Think your Gran might have a bit of breakfast. Don't think anything will be open till things get settled down."

"She might, yeah," Mickey grinned, gathering the empty mug and leading the way across the street. "Might not want to tell her that you're the Pete Tyler, though, she may not believe it."

"Why not? Seriously, Cybermen in the streets, and Pete Tyler showing up at her house is the strangest thing she's going to hear all day?"

"Good point," Mickey conceded, opening the door. "Gran, guess who I've brought round for breakfast!"


	9. Chapter 9

When Pete finally did manage to make it to Torchwood later that day, after several hours of sleep and aiding Mickey in fixing the runner on his grandmother's stairs, he found a scene of utter chaos in his wake. Not that it had been easy getting there. The heart of London was jammed with people getting out and others trying to get in to find missing loved ones. The military had been roused from some corner of Great Britain, and surrounded the city center. Despite using Ricky's car tucked away in his Gran's garage, Pete, Mickey, and Jake had found it ultimately easier to get by on foot, with Pete using his face and name to get them past guards in one section to make it to the towering glass buildings at Canary Wharf.

Torchwood's lobby was open, and many of its employees huddled there, some with families, all confused and lost as he wandered in. A few he recognized, like Yvonne Hartman's assistant. She sat on a couch, huddled by a man he didn't know, but surmised by the ring on her left hand he might be her husband.

"What's going on here," he murmured, staring at the the scene, wondering what in the world could be causing this.

"The military won't let us go home," one man said, ire clear in his voice. "Said the city is under martial law until they clear all of this up."

"I don't even know how I got here," another plump man in a comic book t-shirt muttered somewhat hysterically. "I was just going round to see my friends for some games, and when I woke up, I was standing in the middle of the street in a line of people I didn't know, miles from home."

"I was having dinner with my partner." A model thin woman with a nasty bruise forming along one perfect cheekbone nodded, looking just as lost, but also frightened. "We were chatting, and then I don't know what happened. And when I woke up, I was in the old power station in Battersea, and she was gone. I don't know where she's gone to, and I can't reach her!"

Pete glanced to Mickey and Jake, who looked equally sad about the poor woman's plight. Maybe her girlfriend made it, maybe not.

"I need to see if Miles is alive. My PA, he'd have a handle on this situation."

"What's he look look like?" Jake began scanning the space, his eyes narrowing across the huddled people.

"Blonde, glasses, military efficient." It was how Pete thought of him. It was only after that he realized how bad of a description it was.

"Sounds like your type," Mickey muttered, earning a hard look from Jake, before he snorted and punched the other man in the arm. Pete paused, considering Jake for a moment. It wasn't long, however, before he heard his name shouted from a balcony above. He spun around to look up and see Miles waving him up. Pete didn't think he'd been so happy to see his taciturn and acerbic PA alive before in his life.

"Come on," he told the other two, legging it for the stairs where people sat, scattered, as he tried not to tread on anyone's fingers. Miles met him at the top, and Pete wasn't ashamed to say he hugged the man awkwardly once he got a hold of him.

"You're alive," he breathed, pulling away. Miles looked oddly flustered and at a loss as to what to do or say.

"You...are too?" He pulled himself together, glancing at Mickey and Jake with a hint of surprise. "And you have the Preachers in tow?"

"Part of them, yeah," Pete nodded back to them. "Jake Simmonds, Mickey Smith, this is Miles Conner, my personal assistant."

Miles recognized their names and faces instantly...well mostly. "Mickey?"

"Long story," Mickey shook it off, holding out his hand. "Pleased to meet you."

"You look familiar," Jake mused, studying him. Pete looked towards his PA, who only averted the statement.

"Might have seen me around, hard to say. Where's Mrs. Moore?"

"Dead," Jake said. It occurred to Pete he hadn't even asked about her. "And her name was Angela Pryce. Her real one, that was. We'll need to tell her family."

Miles glanced at Pete who nodded. "Fine. But that may take some time. The CybusNet is down, has been since Battersea was blown to hell. Am I right in suspecting you may have had something to do with it."

"Might have done," Pete replied, pulling Miles with him out of the prying eyes of those there. "Miles, what are all these people doing here?"

"Most are employees, stuck on this side of the city. The military has been in force here since even before the power station exploded. All from different places outside the city. Seems Lumic struck where he had plants first. Those too far away didn't get the signal."

"And the military are keeping all these people here? What for?"

"Trying to keep the peace, or so they say. Harriet Jones is in charge now, but I think she's just scrambling to keep up with the situation."

"And Yvonne's not calling her off the ledge on this one? There is a human crises going on here and she's not trying to intervene?"

Miles paused, staring at Pete in shock. "You don't know?"

"Know what?" Pete shot back, before the penny finally dropped. "She didn't…"

"She hasn't been seen since last night. Hell, most of the Torchwood staff was caught up in this, Pete. They all had their earpods, standard Torchwood protocol. The only reason I didn't was because…"

"Your earpods were broken by the alien the other day."

"Exactly," Miles nodded.

"Alien," Mickey and Jake exclaimed in unison. Oh, Pete had yet to mention that part. Miles arched an eyebrow at the pair.

"Gentlemen, Torchwood is a research facility that specializes in the study of extraterrestrials." Pete looked pointedly at Mickey. "Something some of us have had more experience with than others."

Jake whipped a look at Mickey, who shrugged and muttered, "Tell you later."

"Right, now that we have that secret out, let's focus on the matter at hand," Miles cut in, still managing to be snippy despite his clear exhaustion. "The reason these people are trapped here, Pete, is because the government won't let them go home. And we, as Torchwood, have no way to make them listen to us because we are currently without a leader."

"So who is the next in line beyond Hartman," Pete snapped.

"Well it would be either the head of research or the person in Yvonne's old position, but both are dead as far as we can tell."

"And no one from the board can be roused?"

"Most of them were at your party," Miles pointed out.

Bloody hell. Steven Cavanaugh, Jim Brickman, likely others. Those that had survived the initial attack likely didn't survive the power station.

"So where does that leave us?" Pete had a sad, sinking feeling he wasn't going to like the answer.

"Well, sir, no offense, but you are standing here. And you have lots of people management experience."

Pete scoffed at his assistant. But Miles wasn't laughing. "You can't be serious."

"I think there are very few reasons for me to be joking in this situation."

"Miles, I can't do this. I'm a businessman."

"And a leader, Pete. And people recognize your face. They trust you."

"They shouldn't," he snapped, glaring at the other man. "I've been a spy for Torchwood for years, earning the trust of the great of the good and reporting back to my superiors on all their plans. Spies aren't trustworthy people."

"No. But who else can do this?"

Miles bold fact was a slap of cold water in Pete's face. He was right. Damn it, he was right. No one else could do it, take up the reins, not in this. He looked to Mickey and Jake, who seemed utterly perplexed by what was going on. All they wanted to do was kill Cybermen. How in the hell could he make all of this work?

"Right. What do we know?" He turned back to his assistant, who was already pulling out a tablet and information on it.

"Our best estimates at the moment are numbers between five and ten thousand, and that's just in the London area. Lumic has factories all over the world, and piecing together the intel we've gotten from the Preachers and other sources, my guess is that he's been stockpiling these robots for months, maybe years. He's built factories in areas like Rio, Mexico City, and Bangkok, places where the slum problem is so bad that no one would notice a few missing people of a day."

"So he could have had whole armies of these things."

"Chances are high they are still there, waiting inside the factories for their orders."

"We can free them of that," Mickey pipped up, holding up Rose's phone. "We've got the codes. We could jam their emotional whatever and let their heads explode!"

"Because, what, they aren't someone's son or daughter, husband or wife, or anything?" Miles glared at the suddenly apologetic Mickey. The younger man bowed his head, glancing at Jake, who looked equally as ashamed.

"I am guessing Jackie didn't make it," Miles added, glancing sidelong at Pete. It caught Pete short, Miles, who had long hated his wife, asking about her. All Pete could manage was a short, tight shake of his head, his jaw tightening.

"Right, well, let's just deal with what we got for now, shall we?" Miles jerked his head towards the glass, double doors. "I need to put you in contact with President Jones."

Pete balked at the suggestion, even as he followed his PA down the carpeted hallways. "But I'm not in charge."

"Someone's got to be, Pete, might as well be you," he countered with a giant grin. "Now, Frick and Frack, you coming?"

He was talking to Mickey and Jake, and they looked utterly perplexed. Pete grimaced and nodded his head at the pair, who followed along quietly behind. The upper levels of Torchwood were still keycard sealed, and compared to the lobby of the building, were peaceful and quiet. It would almost be hard to believe, looking about, that the entire world outside had changed. Even as he thought that, however, he caught sight of a television keyed into BBC news, which was now up and running more or less normally, despite the frantic expressions on everyone's faces.

Pete had no office in this building, never needed one. He only typically went in to speak to Yvonne, and kept his offices at the Vitex building nearby. It occurred to him as they made their way through the floors that he had no idea where he would even make this phone call. And how in the world could he carry any weight with now President Jones if all she even knew about him was that he was the man on the adverts selling health tonics?

"We'll use the main conference room, it's got a direct line to the palace, shouldn't be as affected by the network issues." Miles bustled into the large, chrome and wood space, covered in monitors. Outside of the glass windows, he could see in the streets, the people, the tanks, the fear palatable in the air.

"It's mad, this is." Beside him Mickey looked out over London. "All those people in one small space like this."

Pete nodded, grimly. "Harriet Jones is a fair woman. We'll get them home."

"She's alright," Mickey sniffed. "In our world, she was a bit batty, but meant well enough. Made the Doctor angry, though, and he had her removed as Prime Minister."

Pete considered the scrawny, manic man he met. He hardly looked as if he'd have the power enough to remove anyone from office, and yet he witnessed him take down John Lumic with nothing more than a sonic screwdriver and a giant gob that didn't know how to quit. There was power in that man, immense power. He'd felt it sitting in that van as he vowed to bring down the Cybermen.

"How did he manage it," Pete finally asked.

"Huh?" Mickey grunted, pre-occupied by what was outside.

"The Doctor, how did he remove her from office?"

"Dunno," Mickey replied, still watching the scene below. "He said something to her aid, and next thing you know they had a vote of no-confidence 'cause of her health. I guess he brought it up."

"That all it took?"

"Yeah, a coup d'etat with just six words."

"Your Doctor is a powerful man. Scary when you think about it."

"Yeah," Mickey admitted. "Not gonna lie. Death and destruction usually lie in his wake."

"And you leave your girlfriend in the hands of someone like that?"

Mickey didn't seemed as bothered by the idea as Pete suddenly felt. "He'd die before let something happen to Rose. And besides, it's like your PA over there was saying. Sometimes, someone's got to step up and do the hard bits, whether they like it or not. That's the Doctor. He sort of...floats around the universe, through all space and time, and ends up finding these hard bits. And he tries to fix them, yeah? Tries to make them better. And sometimes that means he's in the thick of it, like with this. Him, me, and Rose, we was just traveling, messing around, supposed to go to some planet with these beautiful deserts, right? And we end up in a different dimension helping you lot out."

"Quite by accident?"

"Yeah, funny how that works," Mickey acknowledge, glancing to where Miles and Jake were on the landline phone, attempting to patch through a video conference to Buckingham Palace. "Thing is, he only ended up at your house cause of Rose. She wanted to see you, see if you lived up to her expectations, I guess."

"And do I?" Pete couldn't help but blurt that out. Not that he should care what some girl who wasn't his real daughter would think of him, he likely wouldn't ever even see the girl again.

Mickey studied him for a long, measured moment. "Tell you what. You do right by these people down there and stand up for them with Harriet Jones, and I bet you would."

Pete couldn't decide if the boy had an amazing amount of cheek or was a lot smarter than he liked to let on to people. "This is all madness, you know."

"Yeah, and so is turning people into robots and having daughters from other universes show up on your doorstep, but it happens." Mickey slapped him on the shoulder. "You got this, boss. Me and Jake, we'd like to help, if we can."

He didn't know this boy, had hardly gotten to know his predecessor, but for whatever reason, his vote of confidence felt good. "Thanks."

"Pete!" Miles called. He turned towards the monitor where a live video feed was in progress. Belatedly, Pete considered his appearance. He hadn't showered since the morning before, his suit had seen better days, and his skin felt grimed with sweat, smoke, and whatever had been on the street as he lay there. But he made the best of it, straightening his tie and moving in front of the video camera. On the other end he could see people milling about, most of President Cain's cabinet as a matter of fact. In the middle of all of it sat Harriet Jones, looking slightly stunned and overwhelmed by it all.

"Can you hear me over there," Pete called, catching their attention. President Jones waved at them to be quiet. She stared at the monitor, quite surprised.

"Pete Tyler? Is that you?"

"Yes, Madam President," he called, deciding it was best to use her official title, get off on the right foot.

Another member of the cabinet, he thought the man's name was Oliver...was it his first or last...spoke up from the back. "What in the blazes are you doing in Torchwood?"

Pete glanced at Miles, who nodded encouragingly. "As of right now, I am running it."

A general rumble came from the other side as the President's eyes narrowed shrewdly. "You? Why?"

"Well, because all other high ranking Torchwood personnel are dead," he replied, feeling some of himself coming back, the Pete Tyler assertiveness if not his charm. "Or so we presume. They are missing. Yvonne Hartman has not been accounted for, nor have any of the members of her directorship."

"This still doesn't answer my question, Mr. Tyler," President Jones cut in distractedly. "Last I heard you were the head of a soft drink company."

"Health tonic," he corrected.

"Whatever, by whose authority do you sit in Torchwood now?"

"The fact that I am perhaps one of the most senior people here with any knowledge of what's been going on. I've got twenty years field experience for Torchwood, and frankly, I've been at the heart of this matter since the beginning, so with all due respect, Madam President, there's no one else left to take the job."

He glanced at Miles who nodded grimly. Pete's stomach roiled at the thought of all the lives lost.

"You're Torchwood?" Jones blinked in shocked surprised on the other side of the screen, along with all the other members of her cabinet. "All this time?"

"How else do you think a no-nothing from the estates makes good with his own company. I mean, honestly, it's just sugar water with vitamins, and that story is almost too good to believe."

"I believed it," she replied, sounding somewhat hurt, and he wished he had more time to feel bad about it.

"I'd apologize, but we have more pressing issues, like the thousands trapped behind our military line. It will be a human catastrophe soon if we don't get them out of here."

"We are well aware, Mr. Tyler, but with the situation as it is, and we have no intel on what has been going on."

"I do," he shot back, cutting her off. "I do because I was in the heart of it. It was John Lumic."

"Lumic?" Another member of the group surrounding the President interjected. "Creating robots to set on the world?"

"Worse," Pete corrected, grimly. "Taking people, human beings, and using their brains in cybernetic bodies. Creating an army...a world of his own, with no sickness, no war, no death. He was trying to create his idea of utopia."

It had been idealistic, that was for sure, perhaps with the best of intentions, for all that it took no consideration for human will into it.

"Why," President Jones asked, unable to conceal the horror in her voice.

"Because he was dying," Pete replied, softly. "Because he wanted to live. And he didn't want anyone to stand in the way, least of all the President of Great Britain."

He could see the gears click for Harriet. "He had a meeting with Lumic yesterday."

"Regarding his new technology," Pete affirmed. "I was there. He didn't agree to it. And so Lumic acted. He used the earpods from his company through the network that he created to force everyone into his factories. And the one in Battersea isn't the only one, there are several across the world, where he's been stockpiling these Cybermen, perhaps for years."

"And you are sure of this."

Miles spoke up then. "Torchwood has the intel on all of this, I'll make it available to your office as soon as I can."

"Torchwood? And did you know about it when even MI5 hadn't a whiff of this?"

"Would you have honestly suspected someone as respectable as Lumic with something as heinous as this?" Pete retorted, merhaps a tad tetchy, but too tired to care. "And besides, Torchwood had its reasons for keeping an eye on Lumic. The technology he was using was from our research labs, made available to him by several previous directors. All the advances he came up with were due to technology he'd been given license to."

"And so Torchwood spied on him." President Jones quickly supplied. "You were sent to spy on him?"

Pete wasn't about to deny the truth now. "Yeah, I was. I was assigned to sell my company to Lumic and earn his trust, begin working as his right hand man, and see what I could find out."

"You bloody well didn't find out enough, did you?" Someone called.

"_Oi, _he knew more than your lot, and he was working his best to get the truth out there, Just you all weren't listening," Jake stepped in, narrow eyes cutting at the President.

"Jake," Pete hissed.

"No, I didn't see any of the government stepping in when we tried to say something? Instead they just bought into Lumic's side, called us anarchists, and then tried to have us arrested."

"For parking tickets," Mickey whispered, earning a dirty look from Jake.

"Who is this," President Jones demanded.

Pete glared at the pair, who looked somewhat sheepish now that they had made a scene. "These two are all that remain of a small, protesting group of hackers known as the Preachers."

"The anarchist group?"

"We were post-modern prophets speaking the truth to power, _ta,_" Jake cut in.

"Yeah, the anarchist group," Pete confirmed, wearily. "They were part of my information system."

"No wonder Lumic got away with it all," someone on the other end muttered.

"I'm sure there were many reasons for why Lumic got away with it, and we will have plenty of time to decide who could have done what better," Jones' voice was steely as she glared around her room. "But for now, Mr. Tyler is right, we have a crises on our hands. You are certain that the robots, these Cybermen, are neutralized for now?"

"The ones in Battersea, yes," Pete assured her. "We were able to get the code. We have a phone that has it on there, were able to override the network. Lumic was able to do what he did by creating an emotional inhibitor circuit that overrode any human emotions the brain might be feeling. The code bypasses that program, nullifying it."

"And how does that stop them?"

Pete felt his stomach go queasy at this bit, remembering all too well the anguished cries from the poor souls who saw themselves suddenly in metal bodies, against their will, and the horror of discovering they were no longer human. "When they realize they aren't in their bodies anymore...it...they can't handle that emotion. Most of them simply died from it."

It was grim, not pleasant to think about, and Pete could see the effect it had on the room on the other side.

"And...they still knew who they were?"

He thought of Jackie in her metallic body. He wondered if she thought of him. Likely, she went mad instantly, seeing what happened to her. "Yeah, they did."

"Those were people in those bodies," President Jones whispered. "People with lives and feelings."

"Likely about seven thousand of them in Battersea, Madame President. I saw them."

"And all of them just dead?" The President looked as if she were going to be sick. Pete could only nod, mutely.

"And you say there are more of them stuffed away in Lumic's warehouses?" It was the Oliver fellow again, his dark eyes beady from his jowly face. "Do you have any idea how many we are looking at?"

Pete glanced at Miles, who ultimately answered the question. "Possibly hundreds of thousands."

"An army," Oliver paled, glancing to the President.

"An army of people who had no desire or wish to be turned into what they became," President Jones replied sharply.

"You saw what just a few thousand did in one night here, if those things get loose, they could destroy the world," he countered, and Pete found he didn't totally disagree with the fellow. But he could see the hesitation in Harriet Jones' expression, and knew the feeling.

"Madame President," he called, softly. "My wife...Jackie, you knew her. She was one of those creatures in that station. She didn't make it."

The pain of it cut sharply, twisting in his chest, but he continued. "I don't regret the decision we made to use those codes. We gave them back their soul and their ability to feel, if just for a moment. And we had to do something to stop all this. But...yeah, it's not an easy choice to make, I won't lie. But between saving the human race or hoping we can contain them and treat them humanely, I don't know with their current programming if that's possible."

It wasn't a good answer, a nice, clean one, but this wasn't a perfect situation either.

"I'll have to discuss this with the other world leaders, bring this up before the UN and decide what next steps can be taken, if any." She nodded firmly, glancing around her room. "I need to see how bad off everyone else has been hit, and what assistance if any, we can give, and we need to warn them to seal off those factories and not let anyone in or out."

"And what about Tyler's code," Oliver insisted.

Jones turned to the monitor, staring hard at Pete. "Can Torchwood develop a way of sharing this with anyone who needs it?"

"We can do one better than that," he nodded. "I'll work on getting teams together to help neutralize any threats that arise. Torchwood works independently of the government, anyone who needs it, we can offer our assistance."

"You'd authorize that?"

Pete shrugged, realizing what an awesome undertaking it was. "Torchwood is the ones who started this mess. Might as well be the ones to clean it up, right?"

The President nodded. "Good man, Tyler. Coordinate with my office when you all have settled on a plan, would you?"

"I will," he replied. "And Madam President, about the military lines?"

"Oh yes," she glanced to someone just off camera. "Start opening up the various exit points, see to an orderly transition of everyone where they need to get to?"

Whoever she was speaking to must have complied. She turned back to the camera. "I'll need a report about this, Tyler, I mean everything. I don't care what sort of privilege Torchwood has had, I swear if I don't get every iota of information I need…"

"You'll get it," Pete murmured. "You can trust me on that."

"I hope so." She didn't look quite convinced. "Very well. We have a lot of work to do. We'll be in touch."

And with that, the communication with Buckingham Palace shut off.

Pete held his breath for long moments, staring at the screen. He couldn't believe what he had just done. He had just...taken over Torchwood. Just like that. And no one questioned it? Him...and estate brat, born and raised.

"I'll get on that intel for the President, sir," Miles murmured somewhere to the side of him. "And I'll see what sort of services Torchwood can offer her government in this crises."

"Thanks," Pete replied, somewhat numb. "And see about getting everyone downstairs busy. If they are Torchwood, gather them together and explain the situation. If not, make them comfortable until we can get them home in an orderly fashion. And send Yvonne's assistant up here. I want to speak to her personally."

"Right," Miles replied, moving to follow his orders with his every pervasive efficiency. To the other side, Mickey and Jake watched him go, then looked at Pete, as if hoping he could tell them what to do with themselves now.

"Anything we need to be on," Jake asked, unsure of himself despite the bravado.

"Yeah," Pete replied, shaking himself and considering the pair. Jake he knew was a keen tactical mind for all that he was little more that a street thug. Mickey was a mystery to him, though he said he was good with cars and it was clear he was good with computers. He knew Mickey had a much wider experience with sort of thing than Jake did, and the idea of aliens and all the other manner of madness that went with Torchwood wouldn't bother him in the least. They'd be valuable assets, in the long run. Now, what to do with them?

"Lumic's factories, the President can't act against them, but I have a feeling once she speaks to everyone else, they will want something to be done about them. I just offered Torchwood up as the crack team to shut them down. You two managed to take down one, between the pair of you and our field operatives, think you can hash out what we can do about the rest?"

Jake looked thoughtful, Mickey vaguely sick. But both nodded.

"Good...and while you're at it, you might as well get trained up on the other stuff as well, the real work of Torchwood. The aliens that come here, some peacefully, some not, but we help regulate out contact. Some of those we are aligned with might have an idea of what we may or may not be able to do about the Cybermen, maybe even a way of humanely saving them. We won't know until we ask."

Predictably, only Jake looked gobsmacked when he said that. "Aliens?"

Mickey only laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. "Wait till you meet the Slytheens. All I have to say is keep plenty of pickle juice handy."

Pete didn't know what that was a reference to, and was too afraid to ask. "Right, with that settled, boys, welcome to Torchwood."

He certainly hoped he knew what he was doing.


	10. Chapter 10

_Two Years Later_

"And here we have Vitex founder and our host for this evening, the most trusted man in Great Britain, Peter Tyler!"

The crowd on the floor cheered and applauded as he came up to the mic, the bright light from above nearly blinding him, and turning the many faces in the crowd into shadowy blurs. Pete smiled and waved all the same, turning on the charm and the megawatt smile. "Hello, out there, thank you all for coming!"

Flashbulbs flickered in the darkness beyond him, and he could hear the hush of voices as they slowly quieted, polite expectation filling the room.

"Thank you for coming to this event, the first ever Jackie Tyler Foundation Ball. I hope that you've been enjoying yourselves!"

An appreciative shout came from the floor, and Pete laughed.

"Or at least enjoyed the food and booze, all for a good cause, of course." More cheers filled the air. Pete smiled benevolently for long moments, waiting for it all to subside.

"This is the first such event we've had on what would have been my wife Jackie's, 42nd birthday. Of course, by her reckoning, this is only her 41st, can't be any older than Cuba, after all." He nodded somewhere in the crowd where the very actor stood when last he saw. "But no, she'd have loved this event. The band, the music, the party, it was Jackie's sort of event. She loved these things, and I'm only sad that she isn't here to enjoy it. But that's what this is for, to remember Jackie, and the thousands like her, who died two-years-ago today. To remember their legacy, and never forget the horrible events that lead to that night. And to raise aid for those families left behind, and leave behind something good out of all of the chaos. So thank you for your part, tonight. So, as Jackie would have insisted, drink up, enjoy yourselves, and dance like idiots, because it's a party!"

More cheers ensued, as the music, led by some band that Pete had never heard of, but was told was popular these days, cued up and crashed into a song that caused a frenzy on the floor. Squeals and laughter sounded, and Pete smiled, only slightly embarrassing himself as he shook his hips in camaraderie with the dancers, before as gracefully as he possibly could making his exit backstage.

His assistant, Amanda, once the very same secretary to Yvonne Hartman, stood waiting for him, a tablet phone held out. "It's Torchwood, sir."

"Right." All joviality fled as he held the phone up to his ear. "Miles, this is my night off. I'm at the ball."

"I know, sir. And how are all your drunken revelers?"

"Sodding pissed, but they are spending money, and I will be in the tabs as the benevolent Vitex CEO, raising money for a good cause."

"How do you like your double life, Clark Kent?"

"I like it better when my assistant director isn't a cocky arse. What is it, Miles?"

"Mickey and Jake have found something in Orleans."

Pete paused in his detour through the workings of the stage he was behind, his assistant nearly slamming into him as he did. "What?"

"You might want to get to Torchwood Tower."

"On my way," he replied, shoving the phone into his coat pocket. "Amanda, I need to head to Canary Wharf, keep an eye on things here."

Without any further word, he spun towards the exit, beckoning his driver, who started up the Lexus towncar as Pete climbed inside. "Torchwood."

The drive through the city gave Pete the chance to pull out his tablet phone and brood over whatever was important enough for Miles to call him in. Two years ago Pete had taken over at Torchwood, after the reconstituted Board of Trustees voted him in unanimously. Not that there was much opposition to it, for most of the top brass at Torchwood, include Yvonne Hartman, all of her assistant directors, and most of the original board had all perished. Pete had been the only one, thanks to Miles assistance, who had kept a cool enough head at the time to pull the operation together, and the only one who had known the truth about Lumic. It had been his efforts that had helped the government bring chaos to the disorder in those first, frantic days. And it was part of what saved his ass from further scrutiny when the dust settled.

There had been those who had noted rather quickly that Pete Tyler had stood at the right hand of John Lumic, running his companies, charming and ebullient for his reclusive employer, who behind everyone's back was creating monstrosities. Harriett Jones had been most helpful here, whipping out a government investigation, which had quickly cleared Pete of any wrongdoing in the case, the quiet wink and a nod, of course with the tacit agreement that whatever Torchwood's private mandate, should hell be even scorching the handbasket, she would be told.

Pete had counted his blessings and agreed, taking back Vitex from the shattered remains of Cybus Industries. To the world at large he was still the trustworthy, smiling Pete Tyler, handing them a strawberry-kiwi vitamin water, who ran a company worth millions, diversified into all sorts of healthy snack foods. When he wasn't there, he was seen on the tabloid scene, running the charity in his dearly departed wife's name, chatting up the talk shows, and coyly evading rumors of being shacked up with one or the other of the society matrons who seemed to think the widowed Pete was the prime catch to add to their fortunes. Gossip pages buzzed, and Pete laughed and joked, and never owned up to anything.

Behind all that, of course, was the truth, the side the public never knew, and that was that Pete Tyler was no more in charge of Vitex than he was liable to marry one of those hoydens the tabs kept hooking him up with. Oh, he was still it's President and CEO and oversaw the major changes, yes, but the company had been running itself well for years while in the Cybus conglomerate, and Pete had very little to do with it. It merely provided him with the capital to fund what he really was up to, Torchwood. That had become his new passion. Lumic's plan had nearly wiped out the institute, but it hadn't destroyed it. And Pete, ever the visionary, took it upon himself to refashion it, still within the mandate of course, but with a new purpose. No longer would Torchwood simply attempt to use and contain alien life without thought to the consequence, but it would now work with those who came to Earth and take the technology to make it a better place, to avoid the wrongs that were done before. To stop anyone like John Lumic from rising again. To let no one else , like Jackie, die because they had been careless and sloppy.

Which of course led to the problem of the Cybermen.

In the days after the initial attacks, the Cybermen threat had been contained. Factories were discovered the world over, in Mumbai, Mexico City, New Jersey, anywhere where there was a large population center and plenty of homeless, destitute people that traveled the streets, unnoticed and unwanted. Their brains were placed in these metal bodies, stored away for the day that Lumic would rise to power. But that plan had failed, and now they all remained, still and silent in their factories, waiting for orders that would never come.

The first impulse by many was to destroy these sites before the Cybermen could figure out what to do with themselves, before they could pose a new threat. But this impulse was soon checked by the outcry of the families whose loved ones were trapped in those bodies. The human factor came into play all too quickly. Soon, world governments debated on the human rights of Cybermen, who still had their brains, even if they weren't in their original bodies. What had been a fight for survival turned quickly into a moral and political argument, one Pete had shied away from. Torchwood was not part of a political entity, it stood outside of politics by its mandate. It had one concern and one concern alone, protecting the Earth from alien threat. That didn't sway many governments, who still saw the Cybermen as their citizens, and didn't particularly care what Torchwood's mission was. And so Pete and Torchwood found themselves at a stalemate where the Cybermen were concerned. They couldn't simply destroy them and yet, they couldn't bloody well just leave them there unattended.

This is where Mickey and Jake had come in. He'd brought the pair into Torchwood, Jake as the only survivor of the former Preachers, and Mickey because of his computer expertise, which wasn't bad, considering that he was from a different universe. He'd placed them under the care of Miles, his new Assistant Director for Field Operations, and sent them off, covertly, to observe each of the sights. They discreetly set up their advanced surveillance technology, and slip back out again, without earning the ire of the independent governments who still felt they had some say over their former citizens. Their latest trip had been to Orleans, one of the largest of the sights, where hints of recent activity had cropped up. The fact that they had found something there did not bode well for Pete's evening.

The car pulled into the parking garage of Torchwood Tower, empty save for Miles standing waiting at the building entrance. It was again unseasonably warm for February. It had been for the last two years. Miles stood in his comfortable shirtsleeves, just as put together as always, but looking less than his smirking, sardonic self.

"Someone step on your grave," Pete queried.

"I'll wish they had when you get the news Fric and Frack bring," he replied, falling into step by Pete as they made their way inside, to the bevvy of lifts in the glass enclosed building.

"You said this was supposed to be a routine check, just to see what the activity was."

"And it was. Neither of them compromised their mission, but you aren't going to like what they found."

"I'm not liking what they found already, and I don't know what it is." One of the lifts opened automatically, waiting for his voice command. "Director's floor."

Without so much as a jerk, the lift rose, smoothly gliding up the many levels of Torchwood, with a speed Pete didn't even want to think about. "It was just radio signals. How harmless could they be?"

"That's why I called Rajesh Singh in from research to look into it."

"Now scientist involved, too?" Pete glowered as the doors slid open to his floor. "What does he do?"

"Astrophysics," Miles replied.

"Space?" Pete paused, glaring at his compatriot, who simply grabbed his arm and drug him along.

"You'll understand better when we get in there." There was a hint of urgency in Miles' ever polite tone. If Pete hadn't been worried up to this point, it nearly turned into full on panic now.

"Why on tonight of all nights," he muttered, as Miles held open his office door.

"Jackie's way of bedeviling the universe from beyond the grave, I imagine," Miles replied with clipped sarcasm.

"See, there, you had to go and poke fun at her. Woman has been gone for years."

"Couldn't help myself, sir, I suppose it's my way of missing her," Miles replied, following behind. Already Mickey and Jake were waiting, lounging in the dark, leather chairs on the other side of Pete's functional, wooden desk, in the jeans and leather jackets that seemed to be their perpetual uniform even now, years after the Preachers went defunct. With them was a nervous looking man in a gray suit, sitting in the corner of the space as if he wasn't so certain he should even be there.

"Well, I send the pair of you to France to check up on some data, see the sights, pick me up some nice Bordeaux, and you come back to tell me the world is ending?"

"I wouldn't say ending," Jake replied, shrugging lazily in his leather coat.

"I just said things were bad," Mickey replied defensively, glaring at Jake as if he'd somehow messed the message up.

"I said it was going to end! The way Miles is acting you'd think it was, and I want to know what the hell is going on? I go to a party, a charity event for my deceased wife, and next thing I know you two show up with bad news and an astrophysicist." Pete turned to look at the man, who seemed surprised that Pete had noticed him. "Dr. Singh?"

"Yes!" He rose politely, taking Pete's outstretched hand. "I am sorry we interrupted your party."

"Thanks for being here. No, that's fine." He turned to the other two and Miles, who stood behind them. "What's been going on?"

Jake looked to Mickey, having some sort of silent warfare between the pair of them, clearly over who would speak first.

"How about we start at the beginning," Pete sighed, throwing himself into his chair. "Mickey, you were the one who told us that there were some sort of signal readings from the Orleans plant?"

"Yeah," Mickey nodded, clearing his throat and straightening in his chair. "Yeah, right, we've been monitoring the activity in all the plants. Most of them are dead quiet, lifeless. All the readings we get are low level mechanical ones you get, nothing special. But a week ago, we started to see a spike of energy in the Orleans plant. Course, that tipped us off something was up, so we checked out the other readings. More activity, more chatter, and some signal was being emitted."

"Trying to contact the other Cybermen?"

"No," Mickey glanced at Miles.

"The signal was being sent out, away from Earth."

"So trying to contact one of our allied races?"

"Not exactly," Miles in his turn looked to Dr. Singh. The scientist cut in then, looking relieved that at least he finally had something to do.

"Assistant Director Conner brought me in at this point. I had my team trace the signal, it's subatomic, travels across space. But the problem was while it was traveling away from Earth, it was...disappearing."

"Disappearing?" Pete turned fully to Singh, trying to wrap his head around this. He was no slouch at physics himself, but that made no sense. "The waves can't just disappear, not unless they are absorbed by something."

"We think they are," Singh replied, clearly troubled.

"How?"

"The signal isn't just being scattered into space. It's being directed and concentrated on one spot."

"And that spot isn't even in Orleans," Miles cut in. "The signal is being projected to a specific area above Earth."

"Which one?"

"This one."

Pete stared at the other man, not comprehending for a moment. He turned then to Sing, and then to Mickey and Jake, as if hoping they made more sense. "Torchwood?"

"I tracked the signal myself," Mickey replied. "It's how I found it, I thought they might be trying to hack our system."

"Turns out they aren't," Jake chimed in. "They are simply using Torchwood as a giant beacon."

"For what?"

"This is where it gets weird," Jake muttered, glancing sideways darkly at Mickey, who only nodded in agreement. "Our last readings on the plant indicate that some of the Cybermen are missing."

The bottom fell out of Pete's stomach, allowing anxiety to spin up, out of control inside of him, his chest tightening in response. This couldn't be happening again, not again. "Where are they?"

"Never left the facility. We checked. Place is locked up, the French nationals didn't see anyone, and not a single camera picked up anyone leaving."

"It's like they just...vanished," Mickey echoed. Jake nodded in worried agreement.

"Vanished," Pete blustered, his voice picking up in sound and fury. "Vanished? Things don't just vanish. Cybermen are metal objects, matter doesn't just disappear, and neither do radio waves."

And then it occurred to him what they were saying. He stopped, pieces clicking, as he spun on Singh. "You said the signal vanished?'

"Yes," Singh confirmed.

"The signal vanished, the Cybermen vanished." Pete turned to Miles. "Are they using the signal to call anyone?"

"No, sir. They are using the signal to vanish with."

Perhaps, two years ago, before all of this, Pete would have laughed at the idea, called it science fiction mumbo jumbo. Even in the wake of the type of technological advances Torchwood had, with its purloined alien advancements, no one could do things like teleport. Unless Lumic had one last secret he had taken with him to the grave.

"So the Cybermen are vanishing. Where?" This last question was directed at Singh.

"We thought that they were going somewhere else in the galaxy. We looked for a receiving signal, some place where they may have come out on. But unfortunately, we didn't find one. We found something else instead."

The scientist reached into the bag beside his chair, pulling out a tablet, which he turned on and started with a few flicks of his fingers on the glass. He handed it to Pete, data and charts scattering the screen. But Pete had been quite clever in science when he was a lad, and while much of it was still Greek to him, the gist of it came through quite clear.

"You found a rip in reality?"

"More like a hole," Singh corrected. "It's there, just above us, perhaps even were we are. It's hard to tell with space and time."

"And that's where their signal is concentrated on?"

"The Cybermen are trying to communicate with something on the other side of that hole," Singh elaborated. "What's more, they are able to teleport themselves through it. We have the technology here at Torchwood for such things, have had for decades, but have never found a practical use for it."

"For teleportation? I can't believe we couldn't make money off that," Pete snorted. Then it occurred to him. "We gave it to Lumic. That's why we didn't capitalize off it."

"And he put it in his Cybermen," Miles called out, rounding the chairs to stand by Pete's desk. "They are teleporting themselves out of this dimension."

They were...leaving?

"Okay," Pete set the tablet down on his desk. "So they are leaving Earth, leaving our universe all together. What's the problem with that?"

"Several," Singh interjected, not sounding anything as pleased as Pete did. "What they are doing is causing interference on several levels. A hole in space and time sucks a great deal of energy. It's proximity that close to Earth's surface is causing havoc with our ozone layer. The unseasonable temperatures of late? That's no accident."

"Not to mention that it's causing all sorts of other geological hell," Miles added. "We've had an uptick in earthquakes this last year, volcanic eruptions."

Pete had noticed of course, but living in England with neither faults nor volcanoes, had not paid that particularly close attention to it. "So it's messing with the tectonic activity?"

"The electro-magnetic pull of the hole is tugging at the Earth, much like the moon does," Singh offered by way of explanation. "Every time they open it, it tugs on our planet a little more. So far they've been able to get away with it because it's only been recently that they started, and only in small bursts."

Jake brought himself back into the discussion. "Mickey started noticing the signal two months ago, and when we began our surveillance just three weeks ago, we noticed it only five times. Each time, another hundred Cybermen went missing."

"The factory holds easily ten-thousand," Mickey added. "So it's not many, in the grand scheme, but that's five hundred gone, and we don't know how many others have gone missing before that. And we don't know if they ever plan on sending up more at a time either."

"And more at a time would need more energy," Singh picked up the thread. "More time to transport them, more energy to do it. And right now, it's only the Orleans factory doing it, as it's the closest surviving one to Torchwood."

"Yeah, but the other facilities can all network to each other," Mickey warned. "And if they can do that, who's to say they can't all teleport through that hole?"

"And if that happens, our world will rip itself apart," Singh stated emphatically, eyes on Pete. "Even if we want to let it be someone else's problem, sir, if they ever decide to leave _en masse, _we wouldn't be able to stop them, and we'd all be killed."

Bloody hell...

Pete exhaled, glaring at the tablet on the desk. This had sounded like the perfect solution for half a moment there, the answer to all their troubles. Of course, Lumic couldn't just make it easy. "Do we know how the technology that Lumic is using works?"

"In theory," Singh shrugged. "But we don't know what Lumic did to change it. However it originally worked may not be how it works now."

"And do we know where they are going to?"

"No," Singh shook his head, leaning back into his seat with a weary sigh. "That's the problem, it could be anywhere. Space and time, it's not a straight line. I'm no quantum physicist, but I do know that in terms of theoretical understanding. It has to do with string theory, the idea that the most basic idea of the universe isn't just an atom, but a string vibrating. The vibration of this string, of course, fits into basic dimensions, more than just what we see with the naked eye. Because we can't perceive these other planes, the theory is that along these dimensions are other planes, perhaps an infinite set, where universes, just like ours, exist, but with differences. Perhaps in that plane, I wore a blue suit today instead of gray. You didn't go to the ball, and in fact, your wife may not have died."

Pete resisted the urge to look at Mickey, even though he could feel the young man's gaze on him. "Yeah, I get it, alternate universes."

"More than that, they could be wildly different, depending on the point in which they changed. And that's the problem. If you think of reality as an infinite plane with infinite universes, we have no idea which one the Cybermen are attempting to get to, or if we can even follow them there on our own. If we try to find it, we may end up somewhere else, thus not only not solving the problem, but potentially creating a new one by creating a hole into a separate and different universe."

"But what about if we didn't attempt to punch a new hole." Mickey spoke up, surprising them all as they turned to look at him. "What if we just do what they are doing, right? They are using a sub-atomic radio signal and using that to teleport, right? Why can't we do that?"

"Would it destabilize the existing situation further," Pete asked Singh, who looked thoughtful at Mickey's suggestion.

"Maybe not. Perhaps, if we were sending a hundred people, but not if we are justing sending a small team in."

"And do we have anything here at Torchwood that would teleport us from here through there?"

"We have the same technology Lumic had access to. I don't know what he did with it, but I am sure if we get the engineering team in Research and Development on board, they can perhaps reverse engineer something that would work."

"And how long will it take?"

Here, the scientist looked as if he was at a loss. "I don't know. Could be immediate, if we find something that works now. Otherwise, it could be weeks, maybe even a year."

"I don't think we have that long," Miles warned, eyes narrowing behind his dark-frames. "This is just Orleans now, but Mickey is right. If they've figured out a way to escape, and they even sense what we are up to, or hell, even if they don't, they could throw this all into overdrive."

"Not to mention whatever is on the other side has to deal with the Cybermen," Mickey pointed out quietly. Pete didn't need to ask him to know he was thinking of his home.

"Dr. Singh, get on this and see what you can do to help boost research on a way of teleporting into that universe. Miles, I want your teams keeping an eye on all those Cybermen sites, tell me when they start going online. And ask around our alien allies, see if any of them have technology that might help us in this situation. Mickey and Jake, you two are my eyes and ears in the field. Keep us informed on anything that's different. But keep this all under your hats, I don't need this getting out and scaring the hell out of everyone."

There were murmured agreements as Pete curtly dismissed them all with a nod. Singh politely gathered his tablet, filing it away as Jake and Miles both began to wander out. Only Mickey remained, silently sitting in front of Pete, waiting for him to acknowledge him there.

"You think that they are going home, don't you?" Pete knew he did, but felt he had to state the obvious anyway.

"The Doctor said there was a weird crack that we fell through that day. Wasn't supposed to be there. What if it was there because Lumic was messing about with these things?"

"We don't know if that's the case."

"But it might be," Mickey insisted. "And if it is, these things are going home...to my home, my real one, my Britain."

"We aren't going to let them go there and tear it to hell, Mickey."

"Yeah, but we don't know if they are over there or not now." Mickey scrubbed roughly at his face. In the two years he had been in this world with Pete, he'd changed a great deal. No longer the gormless "tin dog" as he called himself, he'd turned himself into a valuable part of the Torchwood team. It turned out he, like Pete, had a knack for tinkering and creating, and was a wiz with a computer, not to mention a car engine. Even he and Jake had gotten over their differences and the painful circumstance of Mickey looking just like Rickey Smith and had come to be good mates. He no longer seemed to pine away for a childhood sweetheart that had left him behind to see the universe with a mad alien in a police box. He was a man in his own right, smart, capable, and right now, determined to save his home.

In light of this, Pete tried to tread carefully. "Your Doctor is over there. And he knows about the Cybermen, he can handle himself. If it is your universe they are going to, he can at least hold off the lot that are there long enough till we get over there, right?"

"Yeah, but he's not there all the time. What if he's off poncing on Mars or Tatooine or something, and he's got Rose with him. Whose back on Earth, looking after it? And Jackie, she's there by herself. What will happen to her?"

Pete knew he was invoking his dead wife's doppelganger on purpose, trying to illicit Pete's sympathy. "Don't play that game with me, Mickey. I know she's Jackie Tyler, but she's not my Jackie Tyler, and you can't guilt me into doing something stupid just because she is a different version of her."

"Doesn't change the fact that her life is any less in danger."

"And what do you want me to do about it now?" He threw his hands up in frustration, glaring at the young man who sat, petulant and moody across from him. "We won't know anything until we get a device that lets us do what the Cybermen are doing. Until then, we are just spinning over nothing."

"Right," Mickey spat, mutinous as he slouched in the seat. "If you are sending people over, I want to go. I've had experience on alien worlds, other dimensions. More experience than anyone in Torchwood has had. So, if you figure out how to get there, I want to be the first man in."

His reasoning wasn't totally ridiculous. And Pete had a feeling that if he didn't agree, the boy would just sit in his office and whinge about it till Pete gave in. "Fine, you get first dibs. Take Jake with you. But you still have to wait till we get a device that can send you through that hole and not blow your head off."

"And if the Cybermen are over there? What do we do then? We can't just send platoons of Torchwood field ops over, destroying them."

"Don't borrow trouble, Mickey, till we know what we are dealing with," Pete warned quietly. Mickey got the message. He nodded shortly, rose, and went the same way as the others. Pete watched him leave for a long moment, before turning to stare out of the glass of his window to the darkened night and the glittering spread of London below. It shimmered with the passing of streetcars, while on the river, ships trudged along, all oblivious to the fact that somewhere overhead, there worst enemy was even now attempting to flee from this plane of reality at the expense of their home. Honestly, most wouldn't likely care even if they did know.

Two years since that fateful day, and the world moved on, as if Cybermen hadn't disrupted their entire way of living. Even those at the ball, paying for the honor to go to a charity event, laughed and danced and drank as if thousands hadn't died in London alone. And yes, while there were tangible, visible reminders of that night, the shift from earpods to tablet phones for example, the truth was everyone was simply just heartily glad that the nightmare was behind them. Let it be someone else's problem to pick up the pieces.

That had become, if anything, Torchwood's new mandate. Picking up the pieces of the mess Lumic left behind. It would be so convenient to simply let the Cybermen go, to forget the nightmare that had entered their lives, move on to other things. But he thought of Jackie that night, laughing, chatting with the President, in her element. And then he thought of her counterpart, in Mickey's world, having never left the estate. What would that Jackie be doing now, he wondered? Making tea? Watching her rubbish telly? Wandering about with the phone to her ear, chatting for hours, like she used to do when he was mucking about with his models and mock-ups? Would she be alone when the Cybermen arrived, clueless as to what was going on?

"Bloody hell," Pete swore, scrubbing his face and spinning to his desk. He pulled at the bottom most drawer, the sturdy oak creaking as he yanked it open with far more force than he intended. He snagged the bottle of fine, twenty-year-old Lagavulin and a crystal tumbler, plunking the glass firmly on the top of his desk as he poured several fingers full of amber liquid into it.

It was clearly that sort of night.

He lifted the glass to his lips, sipping at the peaty, smoky Scotch, swirling it around as the musky aroma filtered through to his brain and he swallowed. Sighing, he leaned back into his chair and glanced back out to the city below again, lifting his glass silently as he did.

"Happy birthday, Jacks," he murmured, staring at his reflection in the window. "Whoever and wherever you are."


	11. Chapter 11

"Six months in development, you think it would be...I don't know, sexier."

Pete snorted, shooting Miles a reproachful look as he handled the device that Dr. Singh was so very proud of. In fact, he and his team of developers were now standing in their neat and tiled lab, looking somewhat wounded at Miles' assessment of their groundbreaking research.

"We aren't marketing it, Miles, so I don't think sexy is what we are going for with it." Pete replied, handling the device. It didn't look like much, measuring about the size of his hand, but if what they said was true, it was powerful enough to do exactly what they needed.

"It's not as simple as a teleport device, but it's based off the same technology the Cybermen are using," Singh explained, direct and sincere as he pointed to the objects face. "Essentially the principle is the same as a teleporter, it moves matter particles from one point in space to another in three dimensional space. The difference with this, however, is that we aren't simply moving through space, we are also moving through time and the other dimensions that we don't see."

"So when the Cybermen open that hole in between dimensions, this thing will let us pop right on in and say hello," Miles asked, staring doubtfully at the piece of plastic and electronics. Pete couldn't blame him. It all sounded like science fiction to him too. But then again, so had aliens, time travel, and humans in cyber bodies at one point in time.

"That's the idea," Singh concurred, taking the device back from Pete carefully. "We've run tests in simulation only. We've never run it live. But so far, it looks good."

"So on a computer we've managed to get a human being through a trans-dimensional hole, but in all possibility, I could use this on one of my team and have them end up eaten by a dinosaur," Pete muttered, knowing that it wasn't much use. What sort of tests could they run on this sort of thing?

Singh didn't particularly seem offended by Pete's assertion, but instead held up another device, an earpiece, similar to the old earpods but smaller and singular. "That's why I developed this. It's sort of an earpod with a subatomic signal. It's keyed into our system, only we can hear it, and it allows anyone who makes one of these jumps to still call back home should anything be happening on the other end. Takes massive amounts of energy, though, the battery only lasts for twenty minutes, but it's enough to let us know if there's trouble."

"And how about the devices," Pete wondered. "How are they powered?"

"A lithium alloy we've developed with some of our alien allies, one that is commonly used across the universe to help power devices on long voyage, deep space trips, sort of the inter-galactic mobile battery. They are self charging, pulling electrical current from the environment, but, just like with the earpods, it takes a lot of energy to get through that dimensional hole. One short burst, and it will need at least half-an-hour for a recharge."

"So, if there is a dinosaur on the other side, they at least only have to avoid it for half-an-hour, which is comforting," Miles sniffed, glancing at Pete. "What do you think?"

Pete stared at both of the devices. What he thought was that this was madness and he'd be an idiot to attempt this, sending people into danger without knowing what was on the other side. On the other hand, what other option did he have? "We might as well give it a shot, eh? Give Mickey a call."

Miles didn't look nearly as convinced as Pete did. "You sure about this?"

"What, you got another sacrificial lamb you want to toss out here and feel less guilty about possibly killing," Pete snapped. "Besides, I promised him if he could go. He's had more experience with other worlds than anyone has, even you, Miles, and if it is indeed his home, he knows it far better than we do."

"I hope you know what you're doing," the other man murmured, walking away to put in the call.

"I do, too," Pete sighed. He looked up at Singh. "Think we can have Mickey give it a test run?"

"I don't see why not." Singh even looked excited by the prospect, as did the team. Of course, they would want to see if it even worked. Pete prayed fervently that it did. He didn't want to have to explain to Rita Mae Smith where her grandson had disappeared to, even if in all technicality, he wasn't her grandson.

"If this doesn't work, Dr. Singh, what's the worst that could happen?"

Pete couldn't help but notice the furtive looks between the engineers that stood behind him.

"Worst? He could end up stuck somewhere with a broken device, unable to get back."

"It won't explode? He won't be stuck between dimensions?"

"No…well, in theory."

"Fantastic," Pete muttered, glancing up as Miles returned. "He coming down?'

"He'll be right here." Miles looked as if he had been sucking on a lemon. "Look, Pete, I know we promised him this, but he's a good agent, if something happens…"

"I'll speak to Rita Ann personally," Pete replied, not meeting Mile's eye.

"That's nice, and while you don't bother explaining to her that he's not really her grandson after all and tell her that he died in a freak accident, here's some money for your losses, you are sending a kid out there with a device that's never seen real testing. You all right doing that?"

"I have you send other people's kids and grandkids out to deal with aliens everyday, Miles, what's so different with this?"

"Aliens are a known threat, this...we don't know what's on the other side."

"Mickey's done this before." Pete tried to sound more confident than he felt.

"Yeah, and from all accounts he was with someone who knew what he was doing."

That was true. Pete knew very little about the mysterious Doctor, but he knew one thing, Mickey was no where near the capability of the mad alien in his blue box.

The doors to the lab burst open, and Mickey rushed in, a blur of brown and blue jeans. He skidded to a halt, his trainers squeaking on the tile floor as he grinned at Pete. "You finally got it working?"

"Singh's got the first device ready to go." Pete pointed to the innocuous looking bit of plastic. Mickey snatched it up eagerly, carelessly turning it over as he studied it.

"What's it do? How's it supposed to work?"

"First," Singh sighed, plucking it out of Mickey's hands, frowning at him as if he was a careless three-year-old playing with a grenade. "Be careful with it. You set it off, and you'll disappear without us being able to track it."

Mickey shrugged, shoving his eager hands into his jean pockets, looking somewhat chastened. "Yeah, sorry about that."

"Right. Now, the way the device works is like this." Singh pressed a button on the side and turned to his tablet, fingers flying as he pulled up screens. "The Cybermen opened the hole above Torchwood this morning. It's still open. We've zeroed in on the signal and have used that to plot the coordinates into our algorithm. That is how the jumper will be able to know where you are going and where to come back too."

"Jumper? That what you are calling it," Mickey wondered aloud.

"Well, we were going to call it the transdimensional matter teleportation device, but jumper sounded more catchy," Singh murmured as he worked, brow furrowing in concentration. "Now, I've keyed it in. This will take you wherever the Cybermen are going."

"Now do I make it work?"

The scientist plucked the nylon lanyard at the end and slung it around Mickey's neck. "Wear it at all times, that way you don't lose it." He grabbed the earpiece off the table beside him and handed it Mickey. "Wear that too. It's a telecommunication device, let's you call back home. It only lasts for twenty minutes, so make it brief. The jumper has enough energy for one burst through the transdimensional wall, after that, you'll need to give it a good half-hour to charge. There's a light bar on the side, it will show you when it's ready to jump. Don't attempt to jump unless it's fully charged, you'll simply waste energy and have to wait longer."

Mickey listened attentively, picking up the device from his chest and studying it. "And it safe to use, right? I won't get cancer or something from it?"

Pete nearly snorted. Cancer was the least of his worries with this feet.

"It's safe." Singh glance at Pete and Miles, the latter who still glowered uncertainly. "Do we want to give it a try?"

"What, now?" Mickey blinked in surprise. "I mean...can it go?"

"If you are ready," Singh replied.

Mickey looked from Miles to Pete. "Do I have clearance to go?"

Miles only looked at Pete for confirmation. Pete took a deep breath and held it.

"Right, bloody hell, let's get it over with."

Mickey grinned as he held up the device. "So I just push this button."

"That's it," Singh confirmed.

Mickey nodded. He planted his feet, squared his broad shoulders, and gave Pete a smart salute. "I'll call in as soon as I land, boss, let you know what's on the other side."

"Let me know you're bloody alive too," Pete growled.

"Right," Mickey laughed, fingers hovering over the button. He closed his eyes, pressed his lips together, and sharply pressed the flats of his fingers on the button.

At first nothing seemed to happen. Then, somewhere in a room behind Pete, he could hear a whine, like an engine revving. And then, in the blink of an eye, Mickey Smith disappeared.

Beside him, Miles exhaled, cursing, as the engineering team whooped in amazement. Only Singh remained unflappable, his eyes glued to the tablet screen. Pete moved to stand beside him, watching the data as came up, trying to make sense of it. "Is he there?"

"He's there," Singh replied. A beeping sound emanated from the tablet, and Singh clicked a program. "That's him calling in."

"Thank God," Pete breathed, as static sound filled the speakers nearby and floated into the engineering lab.

"Mickey, is that you?"

"Yeah," Mickey replied, his voice overloud, as if he was attempting to speak over something. "Yeah, I'm here, I'm safe...and I think I'm home."

Again the engineers clapped, but SIngh waved them off as Pete stepped in. "Mick, it's Pete. You sure you're home and not somewhere else?"

"Yeah," Mickey replied. "Pretty sure, at least. Looking at a big tourist poster of the Queen, so it must be the right place."

"You're not in any danger," Pete insisted.

"Only from this homeless bloke who's trying to hit me up for a fiver," Mickey repled. "It's got to be home. It's got to be!"

The joy in Mickey's voice would have made Pete happy for him if the situation wasn't so dire. "Any sign of the Cybermen?"

"No, not yet. Everything looks so...normal. Like it did when I left."

"What's the date," Miles called out. He looked relieved, now, but curious.

"Give us a 'mo, I'll find a paper." There was a brief bit of silence. In the background, Pete could hear car sounds. "Weird, it's only a few months after we left."

"Time could move differently between the worlds," Singh murmured by way of explanation.

"You see anything in the paper, anything strange about what's been going on." Miles asked, curious. It hadn't even occurred to Pete look there.

"Yeah. Something about ghosts."

Ghosts? Miles shrugged, even Singh looked confused. Pete decided when in doubt, roll with what they had. "You got any money on you?"

"Not any they'd accept here. Why?"

"Can you get some?"

"Yeah, got a mate who owes me. I bet I can find him. Tell him I've been traveling, he'd believe it. What for?"

"Buy all the papers you can, whatever you can hold. When the jumper's charged, come back."

"Might take me longer than half-an-hour. Got to track him down."

"Just get here when you can. Keep your eyes sharp. We'll let you go, save the battery. Let us know before you jump so we can make sure the hole is open."

"Right," Mickey replied. "See you in a bit then, boss."

With a click, his voice was gone.

The engineers murmured between themselves. Even Singh looked pleased. Miles, on the other hand, looked relieved and amazed. "Did we seriously just speak to someone in another dimension?"

"And you said it wasn't sexy," Pete kidded, relief bringing a smile to his face. He turned to Singh. "Not bad for a bunch of engineers and an astrophysicist jury rigging some alien junk."

"I was half afraid it wouldn't work," he admitted with a small smile. There was still a hint of worry, however, in his dark eyes. "Mickey mentioned ghosts?"

"What, you think it might be something?"

"Maybe," Singh admitted carefully. "Just...something I heard in lecture once. I'd have to call an old friend of mine at Oxford, if you don't mind. Just, a theory of his. I won't tell him what we are up to, but I think I may know what that's all about."

"Does it have to do with the Cybermen?"

"Perhaps," Singh nodded vaguely, leaning a hip against the lab table. "Or it could be that Mickey's world is just mad."

"Either possibility could be true," Pete admitted ruefully. "Sure, call him up. When Mickey returns, send him to my office, would you, Miles?"

"Sure, after I've had a stiff drink," he replied as Pete turned away.

"You and me both," Pete muttered.


	12. Chapter 12

When Mickey did return, nearly two hours later, it was with armfuls of papers and a cone full of chips.

"There's this chippy near where I lived, been craving it for years!" He jammed fried potato in his mouth blissfully as Pete spread out the papers across the conference room table.

"What, they fry them in oil made from fatted geese or something," Miles wondered, deftly snagging one from Mickey's outstretched cone, earning a glare of annoyance from the other man.

"_Oi_! You want some, jump yourself! These are all mine." Just to prove the point he crammed several more in his mouth, the ends sticking out as he chewed around the giant mouthful.

"Charming," Miles muttered, popping his purloined prize in his mouth before stopping to stare at Mickey in sheer amazement.

"Told you," Mickey gloated around mashed up potato. "Bet you wish you hadn't stolen some now, cause I'd have shared."

"You know I can put you and Jake on graveyard shift from now until Judgement Day if I felt like it."

"Such big talk," Mickey sneered, waggling his prize invitingly.

"You know Judgement Day will come a hell of a lot sooner if you two don't stop playing over there and help me with these." Pete scanned across the front cover of the _Times, _which was indeed nearly two years behind their own calendar. "Ghosts, then?"

"That's what everyone is saying," Mickey confirmed, chewing happily. "Even on the telly."

"Did your mate know anything about it?"

"Spike? Nah, doubt he'd notice on a good day, and today was a bong day."

It took Pete a long moment and some half-hazy memories of his own youth on the estates to catch on to the reference. "And he wasn't surprised to see you?"

"Oh, he was surprised, heard I'd taken off and was running from the law. Let him believe I was doing covert ops, all MI-6, which ain't too far from the truth. Close enough."

"And doesn't hurt your reputation in the old place, does it," Miles observed wryly. Mickey only smiled cheekily.

"But no sign of the Cybermen?"

"Nah. I looked, even got him to let me sit on his computer and scrolled the internet. Nothing."

Pete frowned. None of this made sense. "No Cybermen, but they say they have an influx of ghosts?"

"Yeah! Apparently everyone is seeing them."

"Mass-psychosis?"

"Or an alien prank," Miles offered. "It's been known to happen, even here."

"Oh maybe it's the hole the Cybermen have opened up." It was only after he spoke that Singh knocked on the heavy, wooden door, Jake behind him. "I apologize, Mr. Conner, I borrowed one of your team members."

"You made it back alive," Jake chortled, pushing past the scientist to slap Mickey on the back. "These your magic chips?"

"They'll change your life," Mickey promised as Jake snagged a handful.

"Now that we've established these are the most amazing chips in two universes, Dr. Singh, what's your point." Pete was fastly starting to lose his patience with all of this.

The scientist entered, a file brief under his arm rather than his tablet for a change. "I went to see my friend who lectures at Oxford. When Mickey mentioned ghosts, I thought of him. He's a theoretical physicists, works with quantum physics and space-matter transference. He had a theory once about the movement of matter between one physical dimension and the other."

As he spoke, he moved to the table, opening the brief and pulling out notes, flipping through them quickly. "The theory is complicated. I has to do with string theory and the idea of multiple dimensions, far too complex to explain here. But in brief, it's this. If the most basic idea of the universe and everything in it are these strings, vibrating. There is space between these strings. These spaces between are holes between everything made by matter, between amino acids, cells, people, planets, universes...even time and dimensions. An empty place, where there is nothing, essentially."

Pete nodded, understanding the basic gist. "So, what about it?"

"Well, my colleague supposed that this space is what allows for movement. So, when something moves from point A to B in physical space, it's moving through these places. Now, knowing what I know about teleportation and extended space travel, there is truth in his theory. These technologies utilize these empty spaces to move matter between two points. What he also postulates, however, is that when traveling from one dimension to another, that one moves through this empty space, this blind spot in reality. But the problem is, that to move through that blind spot, you need a great deal of force. We managed it with the jumper, they have a whole lot of power packed into them, they are essentially punching through the hole the Cybermen created, thus bypassing this nothing space."

"And you think the Cybermen haven't?"

"Not yet, not all of them at least." Singh spread out the papers he had on the table, on top of the various newspapers Mickey had brought. "This is all the notes my friend has collected over the years on ghost sightings in England. Specifically in places like Cardiff, Scotland, and most recently here, around Canary Wharf."

Pete picked up the newest file, a trashy little internet article about kids in some back alley nearby swearing they had seen their long dead gran sitting on top of a rubbish bin. "Ghost stories?"

"Not just any ghosts. I did some checking up on these grandmother in that article. Guess when and where she died?"

A horrible cold, sinking feeling hit Pete square in the chest. "Battersea?"

"All the most recent ones have been people who died there. My colleagues research has all been theoretical. No one in the community would take him seriously with this, but the idea is that there are places in the world where reality is weak for some reason, these tears and holes within the fabric open up, allowing people and things to sometimes fall through by accident. What we may be seeing as supposed ghosts may actually be aspects of those who've fallen through those cracks, trapped in these empty places."

"And Mickey's ghosts," Pete asked, holding out the _Times _to Singh.

"Like as not they are manifestations of those Cybermen who are trying to get through to the other side, only their physical bodies are trapped in the nothing space."

"I double checked our data," Jake offered quietly, looking solemn after Singh's explanation. "All the sights are ramping up, more and more are going through everyday."

"Chances are, they could be stuck in between worlds," Singh said. "The ghosts everyone have been seeing might be their way of trying to get someone on the other side to listen and let them through."

Thoughts of Jackie and Yvonne came to mind, the idea that they were haunting their counterparts on the other side. "Is it their souls?"

"I don't know what a soul is," Singh replied. "There is no physical aspect to a soul. For all we know, it could just be that the Cybermen are projecting something friendly and familiar to people, a manipulative signal, nothing more."

Ghosts overrunning the whole of Great Britain over there, as Cybermen attempted to flee from their plane of existence to the next, threatening them both. "We have to know what's going on there."

"How," Miles pipped up, studying the papers spread out.

"Same way we found this out." He glanced back to Mickey and Jake. "Think you two can do a bit of reconnaissance on the other side?"

Mickey looked delighted. Jake look petrified.

"Go back home and spy? Right!" Mickey chortelled. "You can see my world for a change, Jake. Show you all the places I used to hang out at, maybe introduce you to that guy I told you about, Spike?"

"This isn't a lark, Mickey. It's not old home week," Pete snapped, as Mickey looked contrite. He knew what the boy was feeling. He understood it. "I'll need the pair of you to do what you've been doing. Set up shop, do recon, figure out what these ghosts are, who has been seeing them, and what, if anything they have to do with the Cybermen. And more important, see if there's anyone on the other side who might be letting them through."

"How we going to communicate that back? The headpiece only has enough juice for twenty minutes."

"You have a solution for that," Pete asked.

"I can send multiple over. We can work on a charger of some sort, perhaps, or a longer battery life."

"Do it," Pete ordered. "Miles, work with these two, get a plan of action together, I want this run as a real mission and not just Mickey's trip home to show Jake his favorite chippy."

"Though, if you figure out the secret to those chips, feel free to bring it home with you. I could quit this place and retire to sell fried potatoes for a living." Miles shot at Mickey, despite Pete's exasperated glare.

"Cheers," Mickey laughed, holding up his now crumpled cone. "Jake, it's been a long time since I've been home. You'll love it."

Jake didn't look as convinced of this as Mickey did.


	13. Chapter 13

It was strange how two worlds, so similar in nature could be be so very different.

It wasn't just the major differences. To Pete, the fact that Mickey's world still had a monarch wasn't all that strange, considering how recently his world had gotten rid of theirs. A lot of obvious differences made a strange sort of sense when you thought about it. It was the little things that boggled the mind. The fact that a familiar street existed in one world but not in another, or that telephone boxes in one world were seen as tourist attractions, while in the other they'd phased out long ago with the advent of earpods. Technology in Mickey's world wasn't nearly as advanced as in Pete's, but then they didn't have annoying zeppelins floating everywhere in the London skies.

And in one world, Pete Tyler had died twenty years before, while in this, it was Jackie who was the one who was gone.

He had tried to ignore this fact as Jake and Mickey submitted their report on Torchwood in the other world. Of course, he should have known that there would be a Torchwood there too, and was only minimally surprised to know it was Yvonne Hartman running it. He was even less surprised to put together that it was Torchwood there who might be encouraging the rift that had formed between the two worlds.

"Yvonne always was ambitious, and if there was something she thought could protect Great Britain with a bigger, shinier cannon, she'd do it," Pete muttered, not happy with the news "Does she even get what she's doing?"

"Not if you ask me," Jake replied darkly. He'd manage to get on at Torchwood in the other world as part of the maintenance crew, Mickey had been clever enough to get himself into the computer support side of things, giving him access to all of Torchwood's files and the ability to wander throughout their building. "They are getting deliveries in, big ones, parts from places all over the world, especially this place in America, somewhere near Las Vegas."

"Area 51," Mickey pipped up.

Pete didn't get the reference, and apparently neither did Jake, who only shook his head in exasperation. "Something they get on that side, I guess. Anyway, they are building something there, something big."

"And we think it's to open that hole wider, let the Cybermen through," Mickey clarified, passing over a thumb drive that Pete dutifully plugged into his tablet. "They have this room at the top of the building that's been hush hush, no one is allowed in, but the energy readings up there are crazy."

"I know the room," Pete replied after pulling up the schematics. "We have it at the top here."

"How much you want to bet that's about where the hole on this side is too," Mickey offered. "What if that's what is connecting the two?"

Pete had no doubt that the young man was more right than he wished. "I'll have Singh look at it. In the meantime, you two have an hour to kill before your jumpers are ready. Why don't you get out and grab something to eat, on me." He tossed a couple of bills on the table, ones Jake readily grabbed with a cheerful whoop.

"Looks like steak tonight, Mick!"

"Yeah, great!"

Pete turned sharply to the young man, who was busying himself with his knapsack. He'd never known Mickey Smith to ever turn down free food, especially not the kind Pete could afford.

"Yeah, I'll be down in a mo', Jake. Want to talk to Pete about something, right?"

A whole silent conversation happened between them, as Jake finally shrugged and nodded, and shot Pete a final thank you, before wandering out of his office.

They both stood in awkward silence as light began to fade over London below.

Pete figured he might as well be the first to break it. "Something you care to chat about, Mickey?"

"Maybe," Mickey replied, shoving hands into his jean pockets. "You know, these ghosts they are seeing over there. They are talking about giving them rights and stuff."

"Sounds like a familiar conversation," Pete muttered, recalling all too well the very same debates in this world.

"I went and saw Jackie!"

Mickey blurted it out so suddenly that it took Pete a moment to process what he had said. "Oh...yeah?"

What else could he say? It wasn't as if he had gone to see Pete's dead wife.

"I just, you know, wanted to check on her. I didn't talk to her or nothing, though, I didn't know what Rose might have told her about me, you know, but...I heard her on the phone to Bev, talking about her seeing her Dad, right."

"Jackie always did love her father. He was a good man." That took effort for Pete to say. He knew Jackie's father had never liked him much and the feeling had been mutual. "She's lucky to still have him in your world. He died ages ago in ours"

"That's the thing...he died ages ago in ours too."

The penny dropped. Pete stared at Mickey, who nodded his head solemnly. "A ghost?"

"Yeah. They are everywhere."

"And so they are. The Cybermen are disappearing in droves. Jakes been noting that."

"This is Jackie, though. They are showing up at her house, and she's okay with it, cause she's got no one else."

"And that's sad, but she's still not my wife, Mickey!" Pete's voice rang far more loudly than he had ever intended, taking them both by surprise. With shaking fingers, Pete ran his hands across his closely-cropped hair, spinning to face twilight London. "Look, I know you were close to her, but she's a stranger to me. Your whole world is...strange to me."

A world where he'd once existed and now he didn't. That was perhaps the strangest part of all in Mickey's world.

There was a long pause and a silence. He could hear Mickey shuffling on the carpet behind him. "You know, you could...come and check it out. Come see it with your own eyes."

"Really? Go sight see another universe? Take pictures to show around, like on holiday?"

"Rose would," Mickey replied, half-laughing. "She'd have thought it all a grand lark.

"Yeah, well she's barely more than a girl, isn't she?"

"Jackie never got into those things, adventures," Mickey continued as if Pete hadn't spoken. "I always assumed Rose got that habit off of you."

"Not off of me," Pete hissed, turning over his shoulder to glare at him. "Off her Pete, her father."

"That Pete, this Pete, you're all the same Pete in the end, right? Whatever the Doctor or Singh say about it. I'm just saying, if you just wanted to go and see her...just check in on her, don't even have to let her see you, she's there."

"And what would your Doctor have to say about it?"

"That it's bloody stupid and like to cause a paradox," Mickey shrugged blithely. "But hell, he ain't even human, and he doesn't know what it's like to miss someone the way we do."

Pete wasn't so sure about that. He'd seen the aching pain of loss reflected in the Doctor's eyes that night as Pete had agonized over Jackie. It had been what had convinced him into that van so long ago. "I have a feeling your Doctor knows more about what he's talking about, Mickey, than you do."

"Maybe he does, maybe he doesn't, but the offer is there. Me and Jake leave in a couple of hours." Mickey hoisted his backpack over his shoulder. "And you could come with, just to see it. Don't say the thought hasn't crossed your mind."

The thought had. Mickey was far too perceptive by half, more than he realized, likely. And it was true, he was curious about that other world. What would a world where he had died long ago be like? Would Jackie have ever changed? Would things between them have worked out, eventually, if he'd never gotten rich...or never died.

"Just, think about it, right? Be back in an hour."

Pete didn't even watch Mickey leave. He stood at his window and watched night crawl into London. He shouldn't contemplate it, not even in the slightest. He had a company to run and a secret research/protection...whatever he called it to manage. And the last thing he needed was to entertain fantasies regarding a wife he'd been in the process of divorcing at the time of her death...a wife who he missed every, single, goddamn day since.

It would be reckless in the extreme.

Not to mention dangerous.

And what if Rose's mother saw him, noticed him?

What if it made the universe implode?

That was silly, Mickey hadn't made the universe implode by coming over here, but still...he wouldn't do it. He wouldn't!


	14. Chapter 14

"Right, so when we hit the ground there, stay close," Jake ordered as Pete zipped up is leather jacket, trying hard not to feel guilty as he slipped the nylon cord of the spare jumper around his neck.

"I don't plan to run off, if that's what you are implying," Pete growled. "I did a fair bit of espionage and spying on my own before you lot showed up."

"Yeah, but you've never been in another dimension before, have you," Jake chided, his youthful face disturbingly serious. "Least till the coast is clear, right."

"He's right, Pete, we don't know who is on the other side when we land," Mickey followed up, holding out his own jumper on it's neck cord. "Okay, so, that clock on the wall there, when it times zero, press the button."

Pete glanced towards the red, LCD clock, still at 45 seconds. "Where will we end up?"

"Always on street level on Canary Wharf, just outside of the building. Guess they don't have this room." Jake tugged on his jacket and grabbed his own jumper. "Should be safe enough, this time of night. Few people around, but you never know."

"Brilliant," Pete muttered, wondering, not for the umpteenth time since he had decided to go along with this crazy scheme, why he had allowed himself to agree to it. "I decide to jump into another world, and chances are I'll get nicked by some puffed up security guard who thinks I'm there messing about."

"You'll be fine," Mickey assured him, eyes fixed on the clock above their heads. "Get ready."

Pete turned his eyes up to the flickering, red numbers. When the clock hit 0:00, he heard Mickey order, "now!" His fingers tightened on the plastic device in his hand.

The world compressed into nothing.

Nothing perhaps wasn't the word for it. It was more akin to be pressed through a hole so tiny he couldn't breath. For a split second, everything that made up Peter Tyler seemed to condense itself into the tiniest of particles, shimmering and shivering in the ether of existence. And then, before he could even begin to reason that out, he was gasping, heaving, as cold air and a manky, damp smell assaulted his senses.

"It's all right! It always takes the wind out of you first off," he thought he heard Mickey assure him. With his hands on his knees, Pete coughed and choked, as someone patted his shoulders, thumping between the two blades as he struggled to breath.

"Bloody hell," he finally managed, standing up with streaming eyes, turning gratefully to Jake.

"Sort of like being shoved through the eye of a needle, ain't it," Jake grinned. Something about that made Pete guffaw as well, nodding.

"Right, well, here we are." Mickey cut to the chase, grinning as he waved his hands around where they stood. It was a back alley, behind the familiar hulk of Torchwood Tower. Pete glanced around, eyeing the area.

"Looks just the same."

"Pretty much is," Jake replied, shoving hands into his jacket. "I mean, yeah, it's different, but overall it's the same."

"No zeppelins, though," Mickey pointed out. Indeed, Pete was unnerved to look up at the night sky over the Thames and discover that indeed, none of the flying giants were about. Not that there weren't other things flying around, helicopters he noted were about. And far off in the distance, other lights twinkled and shimmered as they moved about.

"We've got airplanes, here, jets, move faster than zeppelins and are not as annoying. Never been on one, but my mate has, flew to Jamaica once to see his family. Says it's like flying in a tube."

Pete simply stared at the twinkling lights, noting the faint sound above the noise of the city, and wondered if the strange objects were those. How utterly fascinating! A boyish smile lifted his face as he turned to Mickey, who watched him with a knowing smirk.

"Told you."

Jake only rolled his eyes. "Don't get him going on how wonderful his world is. He'll talk your ear off. Now, here is a packet of their money. Use it wisely." He thrust a small, plastic baggie at Pete, heavy with coins and paper money, at first familiar, till he noticed the image of a pretty, young woman wearing a crown on the front.

"Also, you don't have a plan for your phone on this side, so take this." Jake handed him a black, plastic phone, not as sleek and nice as the tablet phone he'd left in his office, but serviceable. "It's prepaid and programmed with me and Mickey's numbers. Just find us and dial if you get in trouble."

"Right," Pete nodded, shoving it and the money into his pocket. "Anything else I should know about?"

"Nothing that's too dangerous. Most of it's the same. Telly's similar, they like footie here, cabbies are better here."

"Worlds better," Mickey agreed. "But the underground here is shit by comparison."

"So take cabs, avoid the underground, got it," Pete took a deep breath. The air smelled the same on this world. The people looked the same. Everything felt so similar. And yet, he couldn't help the prickling sensation along his neck, the feeling that everything here was so...different.

"Estates are the same place as always," Mickey offered knowingly, nodding across the Thames. "It's not that late, and _Eastenders _should be on about now."

Pete didn't know whether to laugh or cry at that. His Jackie had always had a fondness for trashy soaps too. Instead, he chose to feel vaguely sick at it, only shrugging his shoulders by way of recognition. Maybe he'd go to the estates, maybe he wouldn't.

Who was he really trying to kid, anyway?

"Phone gets internet on it, if you want to look up anyone. But I'd suggest keeping your profile low with the old folk. Most of them think you're dead," Mickey warned.

"Right, no showing my face, no letting anyone believe I'm Pete Tyler or from another version of this world, got it." He forced a bright smile on his face. "When do you want to see me back, Team Leader Simmonds?"

Jake glanced at his heavy, military grade watch. "Say about ten hours, oh-six-hundred. Gives us time before everyone shows up to duck back out of here without anyone seeing us disappear."

"Okay, then." Pete paused, not sure what to do next. "Stay out of trouble, you two."

"I don't think we're the ones you've got to worry about," Jake muttered, jerking his head at Mickey. "Come on, got night shift the two of us, let's see what our evil, alter-ego Torchwood is up to, eh?"

"Be careful, Pete," Mickey warned with a hint of worry, before flashing a brilliant, white grin. "And don't have too much fun."

Fun? What did the bastard think he was up to anyway?

He watched the pair wander towards the eerily familiar office building, before he turned resolutely to the well known and yet strange streets of London. If he had felt unnerved simply by standing by Torchwood Tower, it was worse as he walked about Canary Wharf. Everything looked disturbingly the same. The cars were the same, the buses, they even drove on the same side of the road. The adverts were similar, though Pete didn't recognize some of the brands and products being sold. And it was clear that Vitex hadn't ever caught on in this world, as there wasn't a single billboard with it anywhere he looked. So strange to see something he had spent the better part of his life fostering simply not even existing.

He took the boys' advice, and hailed the first cabbie he could. He was friendly enough, though he did look twice at Pete in his nice, if casual clothes, when he asked to be taken to the Powell Estates. Knowing the man must think him mad, he simply said his no-good brother lived there, and that was reason enough for him, he guessed. The cabbie was chatty and friendly, and eager to sympathize with no account relatives. He had several himself, a son who'd taken to drugs and he'd seen hide nor hair of him in years, and a nephew who kept trying to mooch off his wife because he knew she was a soft touch. Pete only half listened, but had to admit quickly the cabbies in this world were better than the ones he avoided in his London. Quickly and efficiently he got Pete over the river and to the Powell Estates, with a gentle warning to be careful, and handing him a card with his number, "just in case you need to get out quick". Pete thanked him and tipped him double, climbing out of the back and turning to regard what had once been his home.

It didn't look that different here.

The Powell Estates had been built in the post-war years, quick and easy housing for the thousands displaced by the Great War as they called it in his world, He had gathered from Mickey they'd had a similar war at a similar time in this one. It was meant to be modern in design, but the gray, utilitarian blocks of flats had given very little cheer, and by the time Pete had secured one from him and his Jackie in the 80's, they've become little more than low-rent, council housing, home to those who couldn't get a job in the economic downturns, or those who simply found living on the dole better than working. Not that it was all bad. After all there had been some decent folk there when he and Jackie first moved in. Poor, but all right. Sure, there were the losers, the alcoholics, the druggies, those he knew moved in bad crowds, but his memories of the estate hadn't been all bad. Not that his Jackie would have ever admitted to it, years later, when they'd moved to their fancy house and forsaken all memory of the Powell Estates.

He crossed the street, walking across the same broken cement and brick plaza, with it's shabby little shops, all closed for the night, litter and graffiti decorating their pull down shields and gated grates. The stairs at the far end still smelled of vomit and stale piss, just like always, and he made his way up the four flights to the familiar apartment that he had once inhabited in his world. Sure enough, the lights were on, the television a low murmur, and a voice he'd recognize anywhere could be heard, loud and clear, carrying through the night as if the neighbors cared about her conversation.

It was Jackie.

His heart clenched as he stopped, flattening himself against the wall by her window, not daring to peek inside for fear of detection. He instead listened. Just listened, to that same voice, one he'd had screaming at him, shrieking both in laughter and in anger, and it only just then hit him how much he missed even her acting like a shrew.

"And so I says to him, 'If you can't do more than show up at my doorstep expecting me to feed and shag you, then you can take your fat arse and march it right back downstairs to the other whore you are getting to do the same thing'. And you know what...he did just that, and she kicked him out too, and he's been crying across the neighborhood. And well, no one's giving him any sympathy, mind, because he's done this three other times, but still, I wish my name wasn't caught up in it."

That hadn't been the conversation he'd expected to hear. Jealousy briefly flared inside of him, before reason tamped it down, hard. This wasn't his Jackie, after all, and she'd been a widow for twenty years now. Small wonder she wasn't remarried. She could see whoever she liked, though, clearly she had no desire to see some arsehole who was willing to cheat on her with another woman just to feather his nest.

"I won't stand for it, you know. I deserve better than that, and well he knows it now. Doubt he'll be by here anymore, and good riddance. Didn't need his extra newspapers anyway."

Unexpected pride brought a smile to Pete's face. Good for her, standing up for herself. Jackie never did suffer fools lightly. Well, save him. .

"Anyway, enough about my lovelife. What are you doing? That stupid alien taking you any place fun and exotic?"

Stupid alien? It didn't take Pete long to realize just who Jackie was talking to. Rose. The daughter that they never had in his world, but they had in this one. Something aching and sad bubbled to the surface as he listened to Jackie talking to her daughter, chattering about whatever adventure Rose was having with her Doctor, apparently involving something having to do with an event called " the Olympics".

"Well, I'm glad you got to go to the opening ceremonies, love, but you know, you could just go in a few years when they have them." Whatever Rose's comment was to that, he couldn't tell, but Pete could hear something sad and forlorn in Jackie's voice. It was clear she missed her daughter, and that she was lonely, and that Jackie was feeling just a tad left out. As if she was being left behind. So strange. His Jackie was always the life of the party. His Jackie had been a trendsetter, in the thick of it, whether it was one of her many soirees, or an appearance on television, or some charity function she was in the middle of, the spotlight was on Jackie Tyler. She had led the way to fashionable vacations and smiled and waved at the paparazzi. His Jackie was never left out of anything.

"When you convincing that madman to bring you home for a visit, eh? 'Bout time I saw my daughter." More silence, as Pete strained his ears. "Well, come home soon, yeah? I have a surprise for you! No, I'm not going to tell you. You'll just have to see. I will say this, it's someone you haven't seen since you were a kid, and who'd love to see you again."

Pete's gut wrenched at that. She must be talking about her ghost. Strange, though, this Jackie's dad in her world died long ago, well before the Cybermen ever appeared. Why then appear as her father on this side? Unless, it was a random effort, simply picking up on a signal that would be familiar to her and acceptable, one that would make her go along with it. As lonely as she sounded, he'd bet this Jackie would agree to anything, if it meant a little company.

He felt a flash of annoyance for the girl he met, the one who Jackie now chattered to about what was going on with her favorite show and what she'd missed with some celebrity he hadn't heard of. Off, galavanting across the universe, leaving her mother behind like this. But as quickly as it had risen in him, it ebbed away. He remember himself once at about Rose's age, dying to get away from home and have adventures. He'd never gotten far, not till his Torchwood happened into his life, but he'd dreamed big dreams once, and been young, hadn't he? All those fights with Jackie in their flat, just the very same as this, so long ago, when he'd twiddled and sketched and dreamed that he could do great things, all the while Jackie had yelled at him about rent and bills. Perhaps Rose wasn't doing exactly the same as him, but she was the same in that she too wanted something more in this life than watching trash telly and keeping tabs on celebs.

And in the end, hadn't that been what he and his wife's argument had boiled down to? They were leading such separate lives. Jackie was happy with her projects and celebrity, and simply wanted Pete to stay and enjoy it with her. And Pete had been too busy with work and his ever growing entanglement in Torchwood. How very different had he been with his Jackie? He'd neglected her all the same. And he wished heartily, now, that he hadn't.

"Anyway, so come home soon, love. Yeah, don't get get caught up in some alien orgy somewhere and forget your mother. What! You don't think that other species do that or something? Alright, I got to wash my hair. I love you."

The phone beeped as Jackie rang off, and Pete flattened himself against the concrete wall. Inside, he could hear footsteps and rattling, dishes being carried to the kitchen, and then more footsteps coming towards the door. He held his breath, wondering if she'd come out, if he should hide.

Instead a door closed, and water began to run as Jackie began to hum loudly and off key. She was in the bath. Exhaling slowly, he rounded the bank of windows he knew led to her bedroom and went to the door. He was attempting something that was completely idiotic, dangerous, and likely to cause a shitstorm of trouble. But then again, at this moment, he didn't particularly care. And he had been a spy for Torchwood for twenty years. Who was to say he would even get caught?

Quietly, he tried the doorknob, finding it foolishly unlocked. Jackie always was bad about things like locking doors and closing windows, it was a wonder no one had tried robbing the place by now. With a silent of footsteps as he could manage, he slipped past the door, past the bedroom and bath, where Jackie's singing could be heard loud and clear.

He hadn't noticed till then how much he even missed her horrible, out-of-tune belting.

He paused, a rational part of his brain screaming at him this was wrong, strange, perhaps even a little on the frightening side, and he should walk out the door. But he didn't. He eased past the door where the water rushed, and into the living space. It looked different. But he supposed after twenty years it would. She'd redecorated at some point, not that it improved the looks of the place, but there was no help for that in the estates. The layout was different, the telly in the corner, the furniture arranged elsewhere. And then there were pictures, all over the place. Mostly of a dark haired little girl, with wide, cinnamon eyes. She had Jackie's pointy chin, but his broad smile, toothless in one picture, snaggle-toothed in another, quickly followed by braces. In one photo she was a tiny tot, in a leotard and tights at a gymnastics event, a small, bronze medal hanging around the frame. In another, she was proudly displaying a red bicycle, a little older, but with that devil-may-care smile. When she hit her teen years the hair changed to golden blonde, a shade or two darker than the woman who was with her, their arms wrapped around each other as they mugged for the camera, looking more like sisters than mother and daughter. And then there was one with Mickey, younger even than he was now, a kiss being planted on his cheek as he held up a pint, New Years hats on. The most recent, he guessed, was her with the Doctor and Jackie, the pair of them sandwiching her, paper crowns on their head.

Twenty years without her Pete in her life, and Jackie had filled it up with this wonderful girl. A daughter, who under different circumstances, could have been his.

Pete glanced around, looked for signs of something that was him. His old trophies were gone, his knick knacks, his tools, his drafting pads. Like as not they'd all got tossed, either from exasperation or heartache, hard to say. All that was left was a small photo, tucked on the table by the sofa, an old picture of him in his footie kit, grinning stupidly. He remembered that photo. After a day in the park with the boys, kicking a ball about, and Jackie laughing at him for acting like a child. That had happened here...that part of his memories was real here.

He reached to pick it up, to cling to it like a lifeline, something hysterical and so broken welling up inside of him. But even as he did, the water inside of the bath turned off. He froze, swearing, his heart now racing in his ears. She'd be out in a minute, and she'd find him. And how could he possibly explain this to her, that he was alive and well, but from a different universe, one where he hadn't died, but Rose didn't exist?

As quietly as he could manage, he slipped back down the hall. He could hear the shower door slam shut as he quietly closed the door, and slipped by, just in time to hear Jackie humming to herself as she wandered into her bedroom. He sat, listening to her for long moments, until the sound of her hair dryer kicked in.

Pete slunk back down towards the stares, guilt gnawing at him as he took the steps down, slowly. He felt like a voyeur, like a peeping Tom who'd just gone through someone else's life and left his fingerprints on it, poked through their medicine camera and pawed through their underwear drawer. How ridiculous was that, wandering into a stranger's apartment, just because she was almost the same person as his wife? Like some sort of weird stalker, mucking about her place while she was in the shower.

Cursing himself as he moved briskly past the shuttered store fronts, he paused as one kiosk at the corner caught his attention. It had been in his world too, his Powell Estates, long ago. An older man had run it, Pakistani he thought, he'd sat with papers and cigarettes and snacks, watching a battered television he kept inside with him. When he'd lived in the estates twenty years before the man had rarely said more than a handful of words to him the entire time, though he'd stopped there every day to buy a pack. Out of curiosity, he wandered over, seeing the glimmering light of moving pictures just inside the open window.

He looked just the same, if older. The slowly graying hair that Pete recalled was now an iron color, and he had to be in his seventies. But he was almost exactly the way he remembered, from his bored expression to battered jacket with the Tottenham football clubs logo on the front. He barely blinked at Pete as he wandered up, simply nodding politely as Pete made a show of glancing through the many papers. More talk of the ghosts, something about giving them rights, and the growing campaign of someone named Harold Saxon, most of it Pete didn't pay attention to as he furtively watched the man for some sort of glimmer of recognition. So far, there was none. Twenty years was a long time. Maybe he'd forgotten Pete in the haze of faces that had come and gone over the years. Like as not, even if he did remember some mad bloke from back in the day who'd always barely scraped the money together to pay for his cheap cigs, he didn't even recognize him after the decades.

"Bit quiet around here," Pete offered, trying to strike up a conversation. The owner only nodded, barely looking up from his screen.

"Guess that's good, better quiet than trouble." More out of curiosity than any real need, he pointed to the cheap brand he used to buy years ago. "Can you get me one of those?"

Without looking at what he was doing, the man reached behind him, grabbing the soft pack. "Six quid."

"Six?" Bloody hell! No wonder he'd stopped smoking. He dug out the plastic, zip bag, pulling out the appropriate bills with their pictures of the Queen on them. The man simply grunted as he counted through them briefly and opened his till, dropping it inside.

"Cheers, mate." He snagged it and a folder of matches and turned, wandering off into the night.

For hours he walked, across the city he knew but didn't know. Most things were the same, but there were things that weren't. Buildings where parks should be, car parks where buildings should be. Thank God, Elvis and the Beatles existed in this world, he couldn't imagine those not existing. Some things seemed ubiquitous no matter the universe, drugs, crime, prostitutes, and complaints about what the government was and was not doing. Having a monarch still in Britain didn't seem to change that tendency. The papers were filled with all of the goings on of the royals, but of the politicians too, just like home.

Perhaps that was the strangest part of all, because with just a few difference it could be...almost...just like home.

The gray light of dawn was creeping in across the eastern skies when he wandered back to Torchwood Tower. He'd thought of sneaking in, but decided against it, leaving the work of espionage to Mickey and Jake. Instead he stood quietly, looking out towards the river, dragging on one of his cigarettes pensively as Mickey and Jakes voices rang out behind him.

"Wondered if you'd find us," Jake called, eyes flickering to the cig in his fingers. "Didn't know you smoked."

"Quit fifteen years ago." He dropped the burning end on the ground, rubbing it out with a toe. "You lot ready, then?"

"Yeah," Jake replied with a yawn. "Need a shower and sleep."

"And breakfast," Mickey chirped. He cut a glance at Pete carefully. "You check things out, then?"

"Yeah," Pete replied shortly. He left it at that.

"Right. About six now." Jake stared hard at his watch, grasping the jumper in his hand. Pete did the same, feeling the weight of it, cool in his fingers. "Five...four...three...two...one...now!"

Again the same compressed feeling, as if all of existence was trying to crush the life out of him. Then he stood, blinking, in his Torchwood.

And Miles Conner waited, and was less than impressed. "Having fun out there?"

"Busted," Mickey whispered behind Pete, ignoring the fact, obviously, that this was all his idea in the first place.


End file.
